


The Other Day at Hot Topic

by cameronclaire



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Adventures in Retail, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, College, Comedy, M/M, Past Abuse, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-10-08 11:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 38,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17385284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cameronclaire/pseuds/cameronclaire
Summary: It’s Christmas Break, Roxas is home from college and he needs some cash, pronto. He lands a job at the Destiny Island Shopping Mall Hot Topic where he quickly makes some colorful and vaguely terrifying new friends.-- On Hiatus --





	1. Welcome to the Fold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Axel, Saïx

White light temporarily blinds Roxas as the impossible man directs him into a cramped room with white walls and towers of white boxes with black script, shoved into something akin to a circle. Eleven or so employees perch on the stacks in various states of complete and utter disinterest.

The impossible man—impossibly thin, impossibly tall, skin impossibly flawless, hair impossibly red, spiked, gravity defiant—salutes the man on the tallest tower of boxes. The man, his long pastel blue hair pulled back into a ponytail—Saïx, if Roxas is remembering right, waves him off with a smirk.

Winking at the rest of the group, the impossible man makes his exit, leaving Roxas blinking in the literal and metaphorical limelight as the group gapes at him openly. Each onlooker wears predominately black, highlights of silver on their ears or at their throats. Their hairstyles and colors look like they were selected by a child with a brand new box of crayons.

“I’d like you all to meet the newest member of our organization,” Saïx announces, beckoning Roxas forward with long bronze fingers hung with silver rings, “lucky number thirteen.”

Clapping, snapping, cheering, and one long whoop from a guy with a mohawk, greet Roxas as he takes another step forward and tries to smile at the colorful crew assembled.

Saïx holds out a black lanyard with a nametag. “Welcome to Hot Topic, Roxas.”  

Roxas nods his thanks and takes the lanyard, slipping it around his neck and holding the glossy card up to the light. “Uh, this says ‘Cloud’ on it.”

“Yeah,” Saïx clasps his hands overtop the clipboard across his lap, smile neat, “we haven’t printed yours yet.”  


	2. Your Typical Staff Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Saïx, Xaldin, Lexaeus, Larxene, Axel, Xemnas

While Roxas’ coworkers perch on piles of white Hot Topic boxes, he opts to sit on just one, a taped up, sturdy number, unwilling to risk falling on his ass in front of a crowd.

As a result, Roxas stares up at his new colleagues and feels like a pleb, especially when Saïx begins speaking from his four box throne, posture sure and regal, as if he has never played Jenga in his life.

“As you all know, Christmas is coming.”

Cheers and groans erupt and the squeak that leaves Roxas’ own throat is something in between.

“As such, our store owner, Xemnas, the sexiest man alive, would like—” Saïx cuts himself off as Roxas chokes on air.

Roxas congratulates himself on his one box choice, because he definitely would have just toppled a tower with the full body jolt he just performed.

Saïx looks mildly irritated at the interruption of his staff meeting by such a lowly serf. “Yes, Roxas?”

Roxas shakes his head. _I can’t have possibly heard that right._ “Nothing, sorry.”

Saïx nods his head, a prince bestowing unearned leniency, before continuing in the same pretty, formal monotone, “As I was saying, Xemnas, the sexiest man alive, has gifted us with a completely new floor plan this holiday season, and I would like some holly jolly volunteers to…”

This time Roxas knows he’s heard right. His nose scrunches and he coughs. A man with dark dreads and fierce sideburns reaches down and gives him a firm pound on the back. Roxas is frankly surprised his spine does not crack. The rest of the team cackles, except Saïx, the portrait of composure.

“Roxas?”

Roxas winces. “ _Who_ …?” he asks weakly.

“Xemnas,” Saïx repeats simply, spreading his palms.

“The sexiest man alive,” choruses the entire assembled staff of Destiny Island Shopping Mall’s Hot Topic.

“I…” Roxas shakes his head and wraps his thumb in his lanyard, “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” reassures a deep narrator voice. Roxas’ mouth flaps open when he realizes it belongs to a bear of a man with curled auburn hair and the most severe resting bitch face Roxas has ever encountered. Roxas squints to make out his name tag. _Lex._ “When you see him.”

The store manager nods as if the matter is settled, smoothing his pastel blue hair and ponytail, before returning to the clipboard. “I’d like those interested in working an overnight shift to rearrange the store to sign away your souls on this piece of paper,” Saïx deadpans, passing off the board to a tall, muscular woman on his left with short, flyaway blonde hair and violently green eyes. “Should our numbers be insufficient, I will be forced to resort to siccing Axel on you.”

This is received with gasps, chuckles, groans, and a “god forbid” from the blonde woman.

Saïx’s lips twist finally, his smile indulgent. “And nobody wants that.”  


	3. White Knights and Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel, Roxas, Lexaeus, Saïx

Axel hadn’t intended to follow Saïx’s newest recruit to work, but he had been almost done with his Starbucks when he saw him passing by, so he said to himself: _Why not?_   Before he knew it, he was ducking into Hot Topic only a few minutes behind. 

Now Lex looks kind of like he wants to backhand the petite blonde twenty something standing in front of him so hard he flies into Clearance. So Axel figures he made the right call.

The new guy had looked a little overwhelmed when Axel had left him to the sharks at a staff meeting the other day, and maybe it’s his short stature and painstakingly messy hair, but Axel feels an unusually protective urge sweep through him on sight.

“Take the phone and step aside,” Lex all but growls at the wide-eyed blonde dude blocking his path out from behind the register and more significantly, out of Hot Topic.

It’s not exactly a fair fight, Axel muses, slowly and expertly navigating the narrow aisles between movie, tv show, and anime displays, eyes on the real drama unfolding.

Lex has a few inches on Axel’s six feet and spends his free time bodybuilding, like, for fun. He absolutely dwarfs the angel faced blonde, drowning in a black tunic length shirt for a band Axel doesn’t hate, his twig legs wrapped in shredded, skinny white jeggings. It was like a mountain squaring off against an adorable woodland creature.

“I want to, but you can’t expect me to stay here by myself,” the blonde objects, tenor more or less level, hands splaying open in emphasis, left wrist in a black and white checkered cuff. “It’s literally my first day.”

“Look,” Lex takes a breath to calm himself and sets a hand on his hip, “I’ve already stayed a half hour past my shift and there’s nobody here.” His other hand gestures to the aisles, but neither look, well aware that much like the rest of the mall, Hot Topic has been dead for the better part of the Tuesday morning.

The blonde’s brows furrow.  “What if somebody comes in?”

Lex rolls his eyes, gesturing vaguely. “Just tell them the register’s broken. It’s what Demyx always does.”

“Please.” What’s his name grows increasingly distressed, realizing Lex is about to jump ship whether he wants him to or not. “I don’t want to get fired on my first day.”

Lex’s signature solemn frown flickers in amusement. “There’s no one here to fire you.” He shoulders a little roughly past the blonde blocking his way but looks back as a thin croak escapes the guy’s throat. “I’m sorry, Roxas. I _need_ to go.”

 _Roxas_ , Axel makes a mental note. _That was it._

“So long, Lexaeus,” calls Axel, leaning up against the band tees, not five feet from the register.

Lex groans, and Roxas glances between the two.

“I take it back,” Lex says, turning to Roxas. “ _He_ can get us fired with a snap of his fingers.”

Axel smiles broadly and it feels unpleasant, so he can’t imagine how it looks. “Vexen deserved it.”

Lex stands and awaits his orders. Despite what he did, Vexen had been his friend, but Axel wasn’t someone to get into it with. Not with Saïx at his beck and call. Lex has places to be but he doesn’t want to risk his job. People his size and build with a resting expression that radiates “I could kill you in your sleep” likely have a fair bit of trouble on the job market. Axel takes all this in within moments.

“Go,” Axel’s expression softens and he flutters his fingers toward the cave-like store entrance that has always reminded him of a gateway to hell, “I’ve got it covered.”

“Are…” Lex starts forward right away, but then stops, checks himself. Axel’s not known for being straightforward about things, “are you sure?”

“Yep,” Axel claps his hands together, nodding toward the newbie, “get outta here before you bruise Rox’s pretty face.”

Roxas’ fingers fly to his cheek and he seems surprised by his own reaction, flushing slightly pink.

Lex’s voice takes on a hard edge and he turns on his heel. “I don’t do that shit anymore.”

Axel blinks, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. “I know, buddy.” Lex freezes, and Axel drops his hand. “It’s okay. Go. I’ll tell Saïx you went above and beyond the call of duty.”   

Lex nods, which feels pretty intimate, coming from Lex. “...Thanks.”

 

Axel watches Lex clock out and stalk out before turning his attention to the small blonde hovering beside him, shuffling in his oversized combat boots. “So, Roxas,” he waits a second for a response, but Roxas doesn’t seem eager to give one, “day one, huh?”

Roxas nods wearily, and Axel supposes that’s fair.

Talk about a stressful first shift. Especially with Saïx running the show. _Eeesh._ Merciful he is not.

“Alright. Let’s see who’s supposed to be on the schedule with you.” Axel steps behind the register and pulls out a binder with shift information, simultaneously pulling out his cell and tapping a couple buttons.

His nose scrunches as he scans the lines. “Vanitas and… Demyx? Together?” He makes a face at Roxas, half sour, half amused, but Roxas doesn’t seem to have a firm enough grasp on anyone’s names to react properly. “No fucking wonder… Oh, hold on, it’s Saïx.” At his ear his phone stops ringing and an automated voice recites Saïx’s number and beeps.

“ _Hey, babe_ ,” Axel’s voice turns to a low purr, and he notes Roxas’ narrowing eyes with amusement, “sexy voicemail message, as always. Hate to interrupt pilates, but I’m kinda in a tight spot here.” Axel pauses and uses two fingers to lift Roxas’ chin and thereby close his gaping mouth. Saïx has a sense of humor, but he doesn’t let a lot of people talk to him the way Axel does.

“Stopped by Hot Topic to check on your new kid and lo and behold, nobody’s here!” Axel glances down at the binder again. “It’s a little hard to read, but it looks like Xal scheduled the Devil Child and Band Geek together, which was, you must admit, a shit decision. Lex stayed late, because he’s the man, but I sent him off, ‘cause it’s dead as a doornail in here.” He glances at his watch and winces. _Hopefully it’ll stay that way._

He sighs melodramatically, knowing it will amuse the man on the other end, “Anyways, I’m happy to show Pop Rox here the ropes until somebody can get their ass in here, and I’ll make a few calls, but, uh, we’d love to see your smiling face soon. Ta ta now.”        

Roxas raises an eyebrow at Axel, who wonders if it’s about the impromptu nickname or his blithe words to Saïx. He opts to pretend it’s neither.

“Okay, so, I’ll text some people, see who we can sucker into coming in. Either way, Sai should be here all hot and bothered in fifteen, and you’re stuck with me until then. Guess we oughta get you started though, huh?” The blonde still looks a little dazed, so Axel smiles, welcoming. _Better start with the basics, then._ “You clocked in?”

Roxas looks almost bashful, shakes his head. “Uh-uh.”  
  
“Okay, to the clocktower!” Axel turns on his booted heel and begins to lead him to the storage room in the very back, rambling a bit, to ease the tension, “Well, it’s not really a tower, but it does sound more exciting, right?”

Axel glances back to Roxas who scrunches his nose but grins, almost.

“Hey.” Axel abruptly stops walking and Roxas near bumps into him. “You’re like in zombie mode, here kid, what’s up? You a Walker?”

“Uh, it’s just,” Roxas pockets his hands and Axel notes his nails, half scraped off black polish. He can’t help but find it cute, if stereotypical. “Uh, I know we met before, but I don’t really know… who you are?”

“Ah. Name’s Axel.” He smirks and pokes Roxas lightly in the temple. “Memorize it.” Explanation granted, Axel turns and again begins to work his way back to the door marked ‘STAFF’ in the furthest corner of the shop.

“I take it this is not your shift,” Roxas continues, uncertainty watering down his tone.

Axel laughs, hard, wondering if Roxas really doesn’t know Axel isn’t even an employee, really hasn’t deduced his relationship with Saïx. “Definitely not, no. But you looked like you could use a friend.”

Roxas gives him another almost smile, but his eyebrows betray him, dipping lower. “So you like, help Saïx run the store?”

Axel snorts as the Saïx in his head cringes. “More like I help Saïx run his life.” He pauses to punch in the code to the back door, 0-7-0-8, and props it open with his foot. “But yeah, I’ll be around. C’mon, you survive this shift and I’ll get you cake or something.”

Roxas smiles for the first time, swift and iridescent. “My white knight,” he quips and Axel, shocked and amused by the sarcasm, represses an urge to tuck him under his arm and ruffle up his perfectly mussed hair.

“Hey, this is Hot Topic. No white knight nonsense. It’s more like…” Axel fumbles for anything vaguely resembling it, leaning on his elbow in the doorway in faux contemplation, “dark... rescue.”

Roxas giggles—straight up _giggles_ and nudges Axel’s arm, slipping under it and into the back. “That’s not better.”

“No,” Axel nudges Roxas’ back in return and grins, “it’s absolutely not.”


	4. Lady Luck and a Snickers Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Axel, Luxord, Demyx

The guy with the pompadour mohawk arrives twenty minutes late to his shift with Starbucks in hand.

His coworkers smother laughter as he peeks through the various aisle ways and creeps toward where they have clustered behind the register to teach their clueless new hire, Roxas, which buttons to press when.

“Bollocks,” mutters the suave Brit Axel had coerced into coming in on short notice with what sounded to Roxas suspiciously like blackmail, though the impossibly tall, slender, and sharp-tongued redhead, who had saved him when his coworkers were no-shows—insisted otherwise.

“Damn, I’m good.”

Axel grins conspiratorially at Roxas who raises his brows in challenge. “Only because that guy is _really_ bad.”

Axel shrugs as Demyx approaches. He’s still stealing side glances around, like a monster might pop up, as he sets his brightly packaged drink on the pitch black counter and sticks his hands in his pockets. “Saïx isn’t here, is he?”

“Nah, but he already knows. Sorry, mate,” Axel replies, mildly apologetic, flicking the side of the cup with his index finger, and sparing a side glance to the Brit. “And it’s still steaming.”

“Ah, fuck me.” Demyx swipes his drink back off the counter, trudging toward the staff room and the time "clocktower."

Axel watches him go with a smirk on his face. “Polite pass,” he calls after him, and Roxas struggles to breathe.

_So he flirts outrageously with everyone, then._

Demyx raises a certain finger in the air in reply.

_Not mutual, apparently._

In the short course of Roxas’ training, Axel and the Brit, Luxord, had placed a number of bets, the first and foremost of which was whether their laziest coworker would show up before their boss, if at all, and whether he would do so with a freshly purchased drink in hand. Luxord had insisted that even Demyx wouldn’t stoop that low.

Except he had.

The door has barely shut behind Demyx when Axel stretches out a hand. “Pay up, old man.”

Luxord scoffs and even the scoff sounds airy and British. “For the last time, Axel, my hair is light blonde, not gray, and I am twenty-nine, not two hundred and twenty nine.”

Nevertheless, Luxord reaches beneath the register and produces a Snickers bar, which he forks over to the still smirking redhead in payment.

Roxas examines his coworker. The man has light, close cropped blonde hair, that Roxas would swear was bleached if it weren’t so short and didn’t match his goatee. He catches Roxas staring with small, sharp blue eyes and smiles, brows rising in thought.

His skin seems smooth and youthful, even as it stretches, though Roxas can see where Axel is coming from. There is a sense of age and wisdom in the straightness of the man’s posture and his courtly accent. He feels like something out of Game of Thrones.

“Practically thirty, Lucky,” Axel insists, though their mutual grins acknowledge he’s teasing.

“Which is only what,” Luxord leans against the counter and gazes up at him, giving Roxas a view of the complex network of silver chains that had made a captive of the man’s ear, “four years your senior?”

Axel waves off this technicality with the Snickers bar, but Luxord pays this no mind.  
  
“But I suppose next you’ll say I’m _double_ the age of this one,” Luxord jerks a thumb at Roxas whose chin bounces up from where he is pretending to be busy inputting a long discount code into the register. He has already abandoned it three times thus far and is happy to do so again.

An indignant sound exits Roxas’ throat, and Axel crinkles his nose in confusion. “Kid’s in college. He’s got stubble and that ‘I need a strong drink or a strong coffee’ look. He’s not…” Axel glances at Roxas and removes the casual arm he had set beside the blonde’s, biting at his bottom lip, and scanning Roxas’ face. “You’re _not_ …”

Roxas shakes his head. He gets this enough that he should be able to fight off the pink flush rising to his cheeks, but something about the expression on Axel’s face makes it impossible. “I’m twenty-two.”

Axel’s smile returns with less fervor and he pats Roxas’ shoulder. “There you are, Lucky. He’s just fun-sized.”

Roxas feels himself squeak and bristle at the touch and the comment, the flush yet to make itself scarce.

Luxord hums and nods his concession. “Lady Luck is with you today, Axel.”

Uncertain how to interpret this comment, Roxas opts to return his attention to inputting the hopeless jumble of numbers and letters into the register.

Axel chuckles but it seems insincere. “Damn. Shoulda made a bet on that too.” He raps the Snickers bar against Luxord’s shoulder, and Roxas wonders just how much candy has exchanged hands here.

Luxord’s eyes narrow and his arms cross, drawing Roxas’ peripheral attention to the silver studs accentuating the sleeves of his black leather jacket. “I think I ought to cut my losses.” His tone becomes more pointed, “Weren’t you on your way out?”

“Ah,” Axel looks chagrined, glances at Roxas and then his phone, brows furrowing, feet already carrying him out from behind the counter. “Shit. Tell Saïx I had to jet. You off at two?”

When Luxord doesn’t reply and Axel’s eyes, a catlike, flashing green with painstakingly neat liquid eyeliner wings, don’t leave Roxas’ face. Roxas nods dumbly.

_Why?_

Axel only nods back. “I’ll swing by then.”

Luxord, examining the mess the technologically challenged Roxas has made of the computer attempting to shift out of the discount screen without inputting the damn code, waves distractedly. “Cheerio.”

Axel pauses in front of the counter and winks. “XOXO.”

Roxas laughs, face heating. Leave it to the badass redhead with sculpted arm muscles and inverted, violet teardrop tattoos beneath his eyes to reference _Gossip Girl_.

_You know you love me._

“That show hasn’t been cool since eighth grade,” Roxas finds himself taunting.

Axel doesn’t look back before he struts out of Hot Topic. “And yet, you watched it.”

Roxas’ eyes trail after him, imagining Axel and Saïx or Demyx curled up together on a couch bitching about the sexcapades of New York socialites. He covers his smirk with a hand and glances back to Luxord, who has just returned the computer to its rightful state.

“Sorry,” Roxas mumbles, sobering.

Luxord shrugs, and Roxas is relieved that he seems more easygoing than most of the employees he’s met so far.

“It’s easy to press the wrong buttons, when you’re new,” he meets Roxas’ eyes as if he’s trying to say something more significant. Roxas wonders if there’s a you-break-it-you-buy-it policy. Luxord breaks the intensity with a smile, apparently sensing Roxas’ confusion, and waves off his previous words with a wrist flick. “Just be careful, love.”

“Uh,” Roxas’ grin returns, “love, huh?”

Luxord winces at his blunder. “It’s an English expression,” he runs his fingers down his jaw, stretching his mouth and pinching in exasperation. Recomposed, he smirks. “That’s just how I speak to children.”


	5. Secret Double Agent Assassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Demyx, Luxord, Axel

“I’m not a child.”

Roxas’ eyes narrow. He’s used to being teased about his height, but he doesn’t exactly enjoy it. He wonders how long Luxord’s been on this side of the pond and if Roxas is too new to the staff to play like Jay Gatsby and call his coworker ‘old sport’.

Before Roxas can retaliate, his train of thought derails completely as Demyx waltzes out of the back, humming and spinning between the aisles in a sort of dance.

Roxas chuckles but Luxord doesn’t react at all, so apparently this behavior is typical Hot Topic™.

Or at least typical Demyx™.

At the sound, Demyx comes back to his senses, doing another quick scan of the store, and scurrying back to the register. “Did Ax, leave?”

Roxas confirms with a nod, and Demyx sighs in relief, dumping his torso onto the counter like he’s just run a half marathon. Although Roxas gets the impression that despite his lanky limbs, he never would.  

“Thank God.” Demyx reaches out for the lanyard Luxord reaches across Roxas to dangle in front of his nose, and slips it around his neck. “I love that guy to pieces, but sometimes it’s like he’s a secret double agent assassin, you know what I’m saying, newbie?”

Roxas glances up from Demyx’s fuzzy pink unicorn sweater, violet skinny jeans, and white Vans to offer raised brows in response.

Axel seemed kind and considerate to Roxas. Maybe a little forward, blunt, and rough around the edges—but hey, this is Hot Topic not Forever XXI.

Although, come to think of it, Lex had also seemed intimidated by his presence. Something about getting people fired.

Demyx is still waxing poetic, hand clawed over his heart, “It’s like, you think—I mean you _know_ —you’re friends, and then wham-ba-bam,” Demyx karate chops the air, “he sells you out to Saïx for being a couple minutes late.”

“Uh, it was more like twenty,” Roxas corrects, as he scrolls through yet another menu Luxord has pulled up for him to study, consciously trying not to sound like too much of a dick. “There was nobody here?”  

Roxas decides Axel must be some kind of manager. Strange he hadn’t said as much. He tries to imagine having to choose between his friendship with someone who had done something wrong and his duty to a good job. Roxas would probably just say ‘fuck it’ and skip town. Was Axel dealing with that every day?

Roxas turns, worried about Demyx’s response.

Demyx frowns, groans. “I dunno. I still think it was kind of lame of him. What do you think, Lucky?”

Luxord has the scheduling binder propped open and writes in another quick correction. “I think Saïx will be here any minute.”

Demyx huffs, lifting his head, though his arms remain on the counter. “I mean about Axel.”    
  
Luxord flips a few pages, and scans something else. “He has only one true loyalty.”

“Ah, c’mon. To what?”

Luxord raises a pale brow, straightens to meet Demyx’ gaze, says, “Let me put it to you in a language you can understand,” and begins to straight up sing.

_“Do you know what Angelica said,_

_When she saw your first letter arrive?”_

Roxas’ mouth drops open. Luxord has a decent voice and shows no shame in addressing Demyx in... _Showtunes? Hamilton?_

_What the fuck?_

Demyx knows the lyrics, doesn’t miss a beat. His voice is good too, indie sounding, like it ought to be accompanied by a guitar.

_“She said, ‘Be careful with that one, love._

_He will do what it takes to survive.’”_  

Luxord nods and crosses his arms, point apparently made. Demyx quiets, contemplating what he’s just sung.   

Roxas likes Hamilton as well, was a theater kid in high school, even, but isn’t entirely sure what to make of this exchange.

_One true loyalty. Loyalty to what?_

_His heart? His dick?_

_Himself?_

None of it sounds like the man who had just blown his morning plans to make sure Roxas wasn’t alone.

Of course that was his _job_ , a more logical part of Roxas objects. But still… How easy would it have been to turn a blind eye? Everyone else had.

Demyx nods, having drawn his own conclusions, and the older man hands him Luxord’s metal water bottle to take a swig. The way Demyx winces, Roxas wonders if it _is_ water.

“Now,” Luxord tilts his head in Roxas’ direction to remind Demyx he’s there, “would you like to continue training Roxas on the register or restock the Funkos?”

“I’m about to get _fired_ , Luck. I’m not touching another fucking Funko.”

“Yeah,” Luxord squeezes the man tightly around the shoulders and then slips out from behind the register, “I thought you might say that.”  


	6. Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx, Saïx, Roxas, Luxord, Axel

“ROXAS. Before you and I can work together: favorite genre, favorite band, favorite instrument, favorite flavor of popsicle. GO!”

It doesn’t take Roxas more than a few seconds to realize that his coworker is dead serious.

Needless to say Roxas does not learn much about operating the cash register from Demyx.

He _does_ learn that the music major/guitarist/sitarist/his-own-agent is genuine when he says he likes to listen to _everything,_ their conversation shuffling from Broadway to indie bands to K-pop.   

He learns that Demyx founded his own band called simply “The Organization” and that he’s recruited many of its members from this very Hot Topic. He tells Roxas about their next big gig, and Roxas is surprised to find that it’s located at a pretty recognizable bar back on campus.

When Roxas expresses polite interest in attending, Demyx promises to bring him demos, stickers, a t-shirt, and god knows what else, all before Roxas can convince him to even help him _log in_ to the timed out register.   


A few people drop in and poke around the front table, so Demyx takes it upon himself to instruct Roxas in the art of a Hot Topic greeting: “You can say whatever you want, dude. I once told a customer that seahorses change genders, and he didn’t bat an eyelash” and shirt folding: “You need to get this one down, dude. If you don’t fold it exactly like this, Saïx will destroy you and your immortal soul.”

“Or worse,” says a voice from the entryway, which, as luck would have it, belongs to Saïx.

Demyx squawks, back going ramrod straight, like an army private at inspection time, and Roxas slips off the table he’d been half sitting on. He can feel himself flushing fuschia though the insult didn’t come out of his mouth.  

Roxas watches Demyx’s eyes go wide, and looking back to Saïx, he sees why.

Roxas has only seen Saïx twice, but the man had been neat and immaculately dressed and had given off the distinct impression that he got up and went to bed that way.

Today, strands of blue hair slip into Saïx’s vision and out of his bun haphazardly. He wears a white ribbed tank that doesn’t leave a lot of his fierce chest definition to the imagination over baggy black sweatpants and gym shoes. The entire ensemble is perfumed with the sweat glossing his skin and a hasty spray of tasteful cologne.

Most notably, to Demyx, who is outright fish mouth gaping, a worn, white scar stands out just above the bridge of Saïx’s nose between two well manicured blue brows, suggesting a lack of concealer Roxas had never realized the man wore in the first place.

Roxas remembers Axel’s joke about Saïx being at pilates, and realizes maybe it wasn’t a joke.   

Demyx is stammering. “Saïx. Oh my god! You’re…! And you’ve got…! Oh my god.”  

Saïx’s eyes narrow and he motions for the pair to follow him out of the entry and toward where Luxord is restocking Pop Funkos, and Luxord is wise enough to nod to Saïx as if nothing is amiss.

Settled out of the main thoroughfare, Saïx folds his hands. “Allow me to answer your questions, Demyx.” The answers come slow and biting, “Yes, I came straight from the gym. No, I was not attending a Zumba class, nor will I go to one with you. Yes, I am decidedly pissed off at having been interrupted.

“Yes, the scar on my face is worse without makeup on. No, I am not ashamed of it. No, I did not carve an ‘X’ between my own eyes. No, I will not tell you more. Yes, it would be inappropriate to ask Axel. No, I am not a member of the Mafia or any other cultish criminal organization. No, I am not in witness protection. And even if I were, I wouldn’t tell _you._

“Yes, I am wearing sweatpants. No, you will not see them again. Yes, they are incredibly comfortable.” He pauses, inhale silent, fixing Demyx with an icy blue glower. “Is that everything?”

Unanswered questions build in Roxas’ mind though he knows deep down it’s none of his business.

“Can I…?” Demyx reaches out his fingertips vaguely.

“No,” Saïx runs a hand down the fabric of his workout pants, smirking, “you may not touch them.”

Demyx nods, chastised, hand dropping, and falls silent.

Roxas decides he has never met anyone more effortlessly terrifying in his entire life. Once again he is floored by the things he heard Axel say to him over voicemail.

 _Hey, babe._ _Sexy as always._

Axel is probably a dead man walking.

Luxord’s mind seems to have wandered a related route. As Saïx surveys the store, he takes a step forward. “Axel requested we tell you that he had to ‘jet’.”

“Yes,” Saïx nods, the words near overlapping his, continuing his scan of the premises. “He texted me.”

Roxas tries to imagine working up the nerve to text _Saïx._

Finding nothing amiss in his inspection, Saïx remembers his manners, gaze returning to the gambler. “And Luxord, thank you for coming in on such short notice. I hope you weren’t terribly inconvenienced. I know Axel can be quite… _persistent_... when he wants something.”

Luxord smirks. “Not at all.”

“Roxas.” Saïx’s attention shifts downward to his newest worker. He actually almost smiles, and it’s actually almost pleasant. “Good to see you. I trust they’ve taught you _something.”_

“Uh,” Roxas frowns. He’s pretty sure Axel taught him more in five minutes than the other two had in the past thirty, but he sees no reason to share this with their boss. He forces an easy smile. “Yeah. Yeah, absolutely.”

“Hm.” Saïx stares for a moment longer as if he can smell the insincerity on him (or maybe Roxas just missed a spot shaving) and then his gaze moves on. “And Demyx. Late _again._ ”

Demyx moves to take an involuntary step backward, but Roxas catches him by the arm, and Demyx stills, gulping like Shaggy Doo, like Saïx has his hand around his throat.

Feeling like he overstepped, Roxas pats him awkwardly and lets go, watching Demyx’s shoulders visibly slump without the support.  

“This is your third strike,” Saïx announces, leaning forward a bit, eyes narrowing, “I ought to fire you.”

“But!”

“But, with the holiday season upon us, I think that would be the _kinder_ fate. You’re not getting off that easy.”

“You mean, I’m…” Demyx’s eyebrows bounce. He glances at Roxas, who shrugs, and at Saïx who doesn’t flinch. “...not fired? Oh my god. Oh my god! Thank you, man!”

Before any of them know what is happening, Demyx squeezes Saïx around the middle and then just as hastily releases him and beats a retreat.

Saïx sighs, glare dropping off into something much wearier. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

Demyx insists he won’t and thanks him again.

His piece said, Saïx runs his fingers along his scalp and through his bun to smooth the flyaways and walks off grumbling something that sounds a lot like _Thank Axel_.

Before he can get more than a few dozen steps away, Saïx turns back sharply. “And gentlemen?”

Demyx slides his phone beneath a _Supernatural_ shirt, and Roxas clutches tightly to the mermaid-unicorn hybrid plushie he wanted to show the wannabe rockstar.

“Get back to work.”     


	7. Going Down Swinging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Demyx, Saïx, Axel, Luxord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should just apologize now for the fact that I ship everyone.

Demyx has the attention span of a small child with a bouncy ball in one hand and a pixy stick in the other. Halfway through showing Roxas how to process a return, and three thirds of the way through a sentence, he trails off and props his arm up on the counter, placing his chin in his hand. He uses his free hand to gesture with the paw of the unicorn-mermaid plushie he plans to purchase on his break, and asks, “So, you play any instruments, Roxie?”

“Uh...” Roxas looks at the unicorn-mermaid as he considers, as if it had posed the question. He had played the recorder in fourth grade.

“ _Demyx.”_

Both guys whirl around to see Saïx standing just beside the checkout counter, expression stern, a scheduling binder in hand and a pencil tucked behind an unusually pointed ear. Saïx doesn’t look up from whatever he’s working on, words easy and fluid, “Need I remind you that, contrary to popular belief, we are not a recruiting force or advertising post for your little boy band?”

“ _Rock_ band. Hey,” Demyx tosses up his hands helplessly and cracks a cheesy smile, “It was an innocent question! Promise! Just trying to get to know the new guy, see if we have anything in common.”

When Saïx does not respond right away, Roxas shrugs sympathetically. “Sorry man, just the air guitar.” He strums the air in demonstration and sticks out his tongue like KISS, causing Demyx’s grin to brighten several watts.

“There you have it.” Saïx closes the binder with a plastic slap and steps forward. His eyes, the same pale blue color as his hair, zero in on Demyx. “Now, go restock something. I’ll take over from here.”

Demyx slips behind Saïx, but can’t resist tossing over his shoulder, “I dunno man, you ever sing anything? I bet you can sing.”

Roxas McCartney’s mouth dips open a bit, because he _can_ but he typically _doesn’t._ Like. Ever. And how the hell had Demyx guessed…? “No, I...”

A dry sound leaves Saïx’s throat, and Demyx looks up at him, eyes wide, smile bashful.

“ _Demyx._ ” Saïx lays a gentle hand on Demyx’s shoulder blade to urge him forward, and Roxas unconsciously summons the image of Saïx speaking to a three-year-old Demyx wearing a monkey backpack child leash. “ _Go._ ”   

 

Not long after, Saïx receives a call and, with a grimmer than usual expression, announces that he needs to stay later than expected and work on some things. Luxord immediately replies that he needs to leave earlier than expected and drink some things, to which, much to Roxas’ surprise, Saïx only offers a low chuckle and a “Be our guest.”

After Saïx dubs Roxas fully register trained, he goes to the back storage room to work on some things, insisting Roxas radio him should he have any trouble. Demyx decides to take his fifteen after the last of the lunch rush has trickled out.

Roxas manages to check Demyx out and correctly apply his employee discount without incident, and Demyx rewards him with a high five and a “one of us” chant, which echoes through the store as he and his mermaid-unicorn plushie exit to make their way to the food court.

Roxas realizes he is basically alone again on his first day and curses to himself. While he feels much more confident on the register and folding and straightening clothing, he realizes that now that he doesn’t have a coworker to yell over to, should anyone come up and ask him a question, he will be screwed.

 _What’s the difference between a plug and a taper? How much money do you need to spend to get Hot Cash? Do you have this in a double XL? What even_ is _Hot Cash?_

Who knows? Certainly not Roxas. He may have to feign amnesia.

Or, God forbid, actually radio his boss.       

 

Only two people have come in since Demyx’s break, and, finding him gone, promptly left. Roxas meanders the store, looking for something to straighten or maybe a Christmas present for Sora.

_We’re going down, down in an earlier round,_

_And, sugar, we’re going down swinging._

His mind strays to the dated lyrics blasting through the speakers, and he starts to sing along lightly as he readjusts boatneck tees that have no desire to continue their relationships with their hangers.

_“Is this more than you bargained for yet?_

_Oh, don't mind me, I'm watching you two from the closet,_

_Wishing to be the friction in your jeans._

_“Isn’t it messed up how I’m just dying to be him?_

_I’m just a_ — _”_

Roxas hears a gasp, the rustle of displays being shoved past. He falls silent, but it’s too late.

“Oh my god! Oh my _god_ ,” Demyx shouts. “You liar! I knew it! Your voice is beautiful. Now you _have_ to join the band.”

Roxas can feel horror widen his eyes and zip his mouth. Blush contours his cheekbones as he reevaluates the lyrics that have just left his mouth.

Axel crops up only moments later, Demyx’s plushie nestled under one arm and the other landing on Demyx’s hip. He cocks his head and considers Roxas for a moment. “Do you want me to mercy kill you? Because I know where Saïx keeps his coffee and I bet one sip would do you in.”

Demyx gives him a shove with his shoulder, pushing him back into a round rack and knocking over a few of the clearance garments Roxas had _just_ hung up. “You’re a traitor to The Organization, Axel.”

“Dem, I haven’t even heard your band yet,” Roxas decides to offer, not unkindly, hands up in self defense. “And I don’t really sing in front of, you know, people.”

Axel plucks the stray garments off the floor before straightening up and tossing Roxas a grin. “Give the black coffee some thought, Roxas.”

Demyx scoffs, nose upturning, amused smile betraying him. “You’re _both_ dirty rotten traitors.”

“Oh, would you look at the time.” Axel glances down at a pale, freckled wrist. It’s cluttered with black leather braids but nothing vaguely resembling a watch. “Roxas and I have to be going.”

Roxas slips the phone from his back pocket and does look at the time. _Two o’clock?_ He had been counting down the minutes and then spaced this close to clocking out? And Axel…

_I’ll swing by then._

“You actually came back.”

“Said I would.”


	8. Juicy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Axel, Demyx, Saïx

“You clocked out?”

“Not yet.”

Axel and Roxas stare at each other for a long moment. Roxas hadn’t thought the intimidating redhead had been serious about making plans with him, and even now, he’s not sure he isn’t just trying to guide a newbie through the basic routine.

But he doesn’t want to say that and make Axel think he doesn’t want to. Of course he does.

It’s just that Axel seems to be an effortless, unattainable level of cool. James Dean. Elvis Presley. That dude from _Die Hard_. Why can’t he think of a cooler actor…?

And what does Axel want with Roxas?

Roxas can see Demyx wondering the same thing, his gaze flickering between them in Roxas’ peripheral, hears him clearing his throat.

Axel cocks an eyebrow. “So go do it.”

Roxas inclines his head, though his brows remain furrowed. He weaves through the clearance racks, on his way to the storage room and the time clock, glancing down at the employee ID he’d penned onto his wrist—almost entirely 13’s.

“Saïx is in the back,” he hears Demyx telling Axel.

“ _Yeah,_ ” Axel drags out the word, making no move to follow Roxas.

“You love Saïx.”

Roxas snorts and types in the security code for the back room. 0-7-0-8 does not seem particularly secure, but whatever.  

“But he’s doing _paperwork,”_ Axel whines with an exaggerated sigh, and Roxas doesn’t have to turn back to imagine Axel’s frown shifting to a sly smirk. “You know how Sai gets into it with his paperwork.”

Demyx gives an abrupt laugh, and Roxas wonders if Axel hasn’t just thrust his pelvis or made some other inappropriate gesture. Then he tries not to wonder why his mind leapt _there._

“Wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“ _Axel,_ ” Demyx objects through giggles.

“Hot Topic is a cruel mistress,” Axel presses, as Roxas slips into the back, a smile tugging at his lips.

 

Saïx already has his eyes fixed on the door when Roxas walks in.

It takes Saïx a moment to mentally readjust, gesturing in a circle with his pen. “You’re...ready to head out?”

Roxas nods, not trusting himself not to say something to upset the razor-tongued, stone-faced boss that, to be fair, had been nothing but kind to him thus far.  

“Nice work today, Roxas. I apologize for the scheduling nightmare. I assure you, typically I have this organization running like clockwork.”

Roxas mumbles an NBD and thanks for his help, which Saïx waves off, already absorbed with his paperwork once more.

 

Roxas returns to find Axel and Demyx arguing more or less nose to nose, and he spares a second to reassure himself that the store has emptied out, leaving no witnesses to their apparent insanity.

“I swear to God. He came in today with sweatpants on his legs and murder in his eyes.”

“Mm,” Axel tilts his head back, shuts his eyes, and groans, cuddling the unicorn-mermaid to his chest, “I do love me some Saïx in sweatpants.”

“Dude,” Demyx nabs back his plushie like Axel will contaminate its purity with his thirst. “Gross.”

Roxas, for his part, isn’t sure whether to crack up or gag. Sure, Saïx is attractive: fine features like a faerie queen, bronze skin, and the physique of a brick wall, but he also seems to have the personality to match. Bitchy faerie queen. Brick wall.  

Axel refocuses, cocking an eyebrow at Demyx, “Are they the ones that say ‘JUICY’ across the butt?”

“He was chewing me out, Axel!” Demyx backs up a step, still gesticulating wildly, “I didn’t check out his butt!”

Axel grins. “Your loss.”   

Roxas covers his mouth so they won’t hear him choking on his own laughter.

“Please,” Demyx full on puppy-dog pouts, hands clasping as if in prayer. “Don’t leave me alone with him and his seriosity. You’re the only thing that cheers him up.”

Roxas almost wishes Saïx would walk out in the midst of Axel’s sarcastic lusting, so he could witness his reaction. He has his doubts it would ‘cheer him up’ but either way it would be quite the sight.

“Cope, Dem,” Axel pats the man’s cheek softly, “you owe me.”

“Hey,” Demyx’s shoulders slump, caught. “I didn’t ask you to save me from being fired!”

Axel rolls his eyes and as his gaze darts toward the back rooms he notes Roxas, frozen halfway through clearance, silently contemplating their exchange.

“I can’t tell if you have a thing for Saïx or you just want to torture Demyx,” Roxas deadpans to Axel, crossing his arms.

Demyx face stills, shocked at this quip from the quiet newbie. Then he snorts and bursts out laughing.  

“Two birds, one stone.” Axel’s expression brightens as he walks forward and guides his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. “C’mon, Roxas. You survived your first shift. Time for the icing on the cake.”

“The _what_ now?” Roxas teases, elbowing the man lightly. For a minute Axel’s arm wraps tighter around his shoulders rather than retreating, and Roxas laughs even as he rolls his eyes and nudges him off.

The pair leave Hot Topic with Demyx sputtering behind them, unicorn-mermaid plushie held tight to his chest. “Well,” he mumbles, when they have disappeared from view, leaving him alone to restock, man the register, and appease Saïx, “shit.”


	9. Icing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Axel

With his tumultuous first shift at Hot Topic at its end, Roxas allows himself to breathe a momentary sigh of relief before Axel sets a hand on his shoulder and begins to steer him past American Eagle, talking all the way.

“The icing on the cake,” Axel announces grandly, “is an essential celebration of any job well done by consuming an excessive amount of sugar.”

 _“Let them eat cake_ ,” Roxas quotes thoughtlessly.

Axel chuckles, nods. “Marie Antoinette gets me, man.”

Roxas blinks up at Axel, who walks beside him with sure, confident steps, as if he doesn’t realize the stylized red spikes in his hair coupled with his six feet of height, multiple piercings, facial tattoos and the newest addition of a tiny blonde sidekick attract the stares of just about every single passerby.

“Wait, Axel,” Roxas rolls his eyes, patting the hand on his shoulder, “you don’t actually have to buy me cake.”

Axel trips up a step and Roxas pauses for him. “Thank God,” Axel grins, fixing him with green eyes and squeezing his shoulder before continuing to propel them on their merry way, “because the food court a thousand percent doesn’t have that.”

Roxas’ chuckle doesn’t sound as sincere as he’d like. He wonders exactly how much thought Axel has dedicated to the same cake promise that he himself had immediately dismissed as a joke.

As they continue on their path to the food court, past the JC Penney that used to be a Von Maur that used to be a JC Penney, Roxas tries again, “I meant, like, you don’t have to do anything for me. You already saved me earlier.” He glances up to meet Axel’s eyes again, pocketing his hands and shrugging. “If anything, I owe you.”  

“Hey,” Axel objects, bumping his shoulder into Roxas’ and smirking as Roxas feels himself pull a face. “You deserve it. You survived me and Lex and Demyx _and_ Saïx, and…” he tilts his head, “well, Luxord’s pretty chill, but the rest is pretty damn impressive.”

Roxas laughs. “You’ve clearly never seen Luxord and Demyx gossip in showtunes, then.”

Axel groans and tosses his hair back, “Oh, my sweet, naïve little Roxas, we have _all_ heard Luxord and Demyx gossip in showtunes. One time, Dem got pissed at me and it was “Cell Block Tango” from Chicago for a week.” Axel’s voice goes sweet and low, “‘ _You know some men just can’t hold their arsenic.’_ I was afraid to sleep at night.”  

Roxas giggles harder, Axel’s raising brows prompting him to get it together. Roxas shakes his head. “You guys are too fucking much.”

Axel offers another small smile and ruffles Roxas’ golden, permanent bedhead. “Welcome to the family, kid.”

Usually, Roxas doesn’t respond well to anyone mussing his hair or calling him “kid” but the crinkles that appear beside Axel’s eyes and the grin that scrunches the violet teardrops tattooed beneath them demand a smile in return. “Thanks, Axel.”     

They continue walking in companionable silence, dodging the occasional stroller, cluster of teenagers, and old person. When Axel begins to steer Roxas away from the food court and toward an escalator, Roxas halts, brows rising.

“How’s ice cream sound?” Axel poses.

Even with the AC on full blast, Roxas can feel the island heat seeping down his neck and crawling up his skinny jeans. He’s been regretting his clothing choices for hours but he was not going to dress like a beach bum on his first day at Hot Topic, god damn it.

Anyway, Axel must be feeling the same, clothed in tight, faded black denim straight legs and a snug, long-sleeved, shredded, slate grey tee.    

“Agh,” Roxas clutches a hand to his chest as if wounded, “I don’t know how to say no to ice cream.” He steps onto the escalator under the direction of the hand on his shoulder and strains his neck to look up at his companion, now just, even more insanely tall as they descend. They were going to switch spots next time they rode an escalator together if Roxas had any say in the matter.    

Axel chuckles and drops his hands to the railing, spreading his arms behind him. “Noted.” Axel leans back and relaxes, eyes shutting and muscles stretching like a cat in the sun. Roxas thinks he could get used to that view and then he attempts to unthink it.

“I’m the same,” Axel continues. “Will do anything for ice cream.”

“I didn’t say I’d do ‘ _anything_ ’ for ice cream,” Roxas argues, trying to purr the word like Axel had.

“For hot redheads _and_ ice cream, then,” Axel amends, without shame, without even looking at Roxas to see the (quickly rectified) drop of his jaw.

“Only when they’re buying.”

Their eyes meet then and Axel offers a quick, unexpected smile at the jab.

“Touché, Pop Rox.”   


	10. Sea Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Axel, Yuffie

The unlikely pair approach a tiny, circular wooden ice cream kiosk strung with tiny rainbow Christmas lights and frosted with fake cotton snow. As they join the brief line, Axel explains to Roxas his lifelong mission to sample every single flavor, of which, a glance to the wall-length menu, tells Roxas there are upwards of twenty-five.

It doesn’t seem humanly possible for such a skinny man to consume that much ice cream, but Roxas is reluctant to divulge this and crush Axel’s dreams.

“They only have a box of each kind and then you’re S.O.L. until their next shipment,” Axel is saying. “I’ve been trying to get my paws on a paopu one for months, but, well,” he waggles his eyebrows, lips pursing, “you know the legend.”

“Ugh.” Roxas nods. “Yeah, my little brother’s kind of the hopeless romantic type. We used to go looking for paopu trees all over the play island.”

It’s adorable, like everything else about Roxas’ younger brother, but Roxas would never admit it to Sora.

“Not your thing, huh?” Axel’s gaze shifts from the ice cream stand to his new companion, curious.

“Eh, I dunno. It’s a bit much, right?” Roxas frees a hand from his pocket to gesture vaguely, “ _Destiny._  Like, I want to control my own fate, you know?” Roxas can feel his intensity thrumming in his throat but can’t seem to deescalate it. “I don’t like the idea that my path is set and I can’t change who I am, what I do, who I love. Isn’t that the entire point of it all?”

Axel’s takes this in, his colorless clothing redirecting Roxas’ attention back up to thoughtful jade green eyes. “Atta, boy.” His hands clasp Roxas’ shoulders again, squeeze. “Fuck destiny. Blaze your own trail, Roxas.”

It sounds teasing, almost condescending, but when Roxas glances up, there’s a look in his eye like he means it and a purr to the way he says his name like nobody else says it. Like he likes the taste. Roxas’ head goes fuzzy.

Shit. Because a day one crush on a manager is just what any new Hot Topic employee needs.

The line moves forward and Axel and Roxas follow.

Axel’s still watching him, so Roxas searches for a less existential conversational thread. “Uh, so, what’s been your favorite flavor so far?”

Axel laughs at the abrupt shift, his fingers smoothing a gelled red spike of hair. He grimaces like Roxas asked him to name his favorite band or hair product. “Well.” Then he has a thought, smirks. “You’ll see.”

Roxas feels his nose crinkle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll like it. You’ll see.”

 

The line moves up again and before Roxas can ask for more details the ice cream saleswoman is hanging out her window waving with both hands. “Axel! Hey, babe!”

“Hey, Yufe! Shop looks cute.” Axel smiles and nods toward the lights, the snow. “Very festive.”

“Thanks!” Yuffie claps her hands together, her tone and expression so super charged with enthusiasm Roxas feels like he’s standing next to Sora. “Put them up myself.” She rests her arms on the counter. “Haven’t seen you in a while, red! What gives?”

“No, well…” Axel rubs the back of his neck, frowning and flipping open a worn wallet. “The boyfriend is on a diet, so...”

Boyfriend. Of course. Biting at his bottom lip, Roxas tries not to visibly deflate. Axel had flirted with Demyx, Luxord, and Saïx, so, of course he was comfortable with himself and in a happy relationship.

Boyfriend. Of course. Good for him.

Yuffie blanches, brows drawn up. “Neither of you studs needs a diet. Tell him I said so.”

Axel brushes this off with a flick of his wrist like he’s too polite to argue. “Nah, it’s important. But, not to worry, I’ve nabbed a new ice cream hostage.”

Taking this as a cue, Roxas tentatively steps up beside him, “Hey, Yuffie. So what’s good here? Axel’s been cryptic.”

Axel places a hand over Roxas’ mouth midway through, “Just two of the usual, please.”

Yuffie jumps a bit, grins. “Hey, it’s Roxas from AP Bio! How’ve ya been, Rox?”

Axel drops his hand as Roxas bats at it, gaze shifting between the two.

“Great, well,” Roxas reflects on the past month. If he could have put coffee in an IV he would have. “Okay. College, finals, you know, exhausting, so, okay. And you?”

They exchange a couple more pleasantries about Sora and Yuffie’s sports medicine program and mutual friends, as Yuffie rings up two ice cream popsicles, and Axel makes good on his offer to pay.

“Well,” Axel accepts the popsicles and presses Yuffie’s hand in parting, “looks like you know my ice cream buddy better than I do. Guess I better work on that.” He leans back from the counter and Roxas follows suit.

“Hey, go easy on him, Axel,” she calls as they turn to go, “he looks like a punk but he’s a huge sweetheart.”

“ _Yuffie_ ,” Roxas all but growls, ears flushing, fingers dropping halfway through fixing up his hair. She just laughs and waves them off.

Axel salutes her with a popsicle. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, as always.”

Roxas bumps Axel in the shoulder as they walk and Axel grins again, passing him an ice cream.

Roxas examines the dessert through its packaging, tilting it up toward the light. “Blue, huh?”

“Blue.” Axel peels away the soft paper as they walk, exchanging with Roxas and doing the same to the second. “Like the ocean.”

They settle themselves on a seat designed like a ten person ottoman with a hideous print. Axel’s lanky legs hang over the edge, and Roxas sits cross-legged, examining the light blue sheen and savoring the gentle scent of vanilla.

Roxas takes a tentative bite and finds the consistency softer than expected.

“Well?”

Roxas sees that Axel hasn’t touched his, distracted, waiting to gauge his reaction.

“It’s salty,” he frowns twirls the stick in his hand, smiles, “but sweet. Like you said. Like the ocean. It’s…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s kind of amazing.”

“Yeah.” Axel smiles, stares up at the glass panes in the ceiling two stories up where the sun floods in. “It is, isn’t it?”

Roxas looks up as well, face warming, throat blessedly cool. “Thank you.”

“Ah,” Axel shrugs a shoulder, flutters his hand, “it’s just ice cream, Roxas. Gees.”

_And saving me this morning, and coming back, and not treating me like an outsider, even though you know everybody in the place._

“Yeah,” Roxas mumbles, “still.”

Ice cream finished, Axel leans onto his back and stares up at the sunlit windows. He asks Roxas about the rest of his first day, and Roxas shares Demyx’s antics, Saix’s freak out, Luxord’s clever, early exit.

Roxas lays back beside Axel, and Axel tells him about the rest of the staff, the good and the bad. Larxene who eats grown men for breakfast, Zexion, a diehard biology student, never without a textbook, Xaldin and Lex the strong, silent types, Aqua, mom friend extraordinaire who can still kick ass, Vanitas who would be fired a thousand times over if his uncle didn’t run the place, his uncle, Xemnas, the sexiest man alive.

As Axel pulls out his phone to prove this final point, he winces at several rows of missed messages.

It occurs to Roxas he hasn’t asked or learned much of anything about Axel—let alone the name of his man.

Roxas pushes himself up, throat a bit dry, “I should probably get going too.”

“Oh.” Axel turns to him, a bit wide-eyed, or it might be the sheer amount of eye makeup he’s wearing. “Alright.” He sits up as well, watching Roxas adjust the laces of a combat boot, and smiling. “Just know that if you continue to drip ice cream all over yourself like that I’m going to continue making you my ice cream buddy just so I can make fun of you for it.”

“ _Hey._ ” Roxas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving behind a self-conscious frown. He’d had no idea how fast the thing would melt, but he’d licked most of the blue streaks off of his hands and lips after a cackling Axel refused to do a napkin run.

 _But the kiosk is all the way over_ there, _Roxas. Just be a man and use your tongue._

“C’mon,” Axel looks up from the message he’s tapping out, lips tipping up, “you don’t know how to say no to ice cream.”

_God, his eyes are pretty._

“Damn,” Roxas doesn’t want to smile back or agree, but he feels himself doing it anyway, “you’re right.” He forces himself to get to his feet, and then to check his own phone, nothing from his brother yet, though he should be off by now.

He glances up to find Axel thumbing through his own, mumbling, “Yeah, I am definitely penning ‘ice cream with hot mess’ into my calendar. When’s your next shift?”

Roxas’ arms cross and Axel stands, smile sweetening, phone tucking away.

“You’re a dick.”

“You’re welcome, Roxas.”

“Thursday.”

“Okay. See you Thursday, Roxas.”


	11. The Snack That Smiles Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel, Roxas, Yuffie, Saïx

Stomach full of ice cream and mind at ease, Axel makes his way up an escalator and back toward Hot Topic. Saïx is already upset about his absence, but that’s nothing Axel can’t handle. Probably. Hopefully.

As the stairs ascend, Axel finds himself gazing over the banister, scanning the crowds for Roxas’ strange, swooping golden halo of blonde locks.

The day they met, Axel had wondered why Saïx had even hired the quiet, adorable, petite blonde punk. He looked easy to break. Like a goldfish cracker in a sea of literal sharks. 

But the more he spoke to Roxas, the blonde cracking him up with stories of his crazy-ass coworkers, the more apparent it became that he knows how to crack a verbal whip. His wit reminds him a bit of Saïx’s: casual, unassuming, sharp as a switchblade. It’s like Saïx found someone else who speaks his exact dialect of sarcasm and signed him right on. It’s... well, it’s a little bit terrifying, actually. 

Or it would be. Except Yuffie wasn’t wrong. The guy is mostly just a total sweetheart. Face of an angel. Heart of mush. 

Surprising, yeah, but sweet. Like Pop Rocks. 

Sure, Saïx would have his own rationale for hiring the kid. Some bullshit about approachability and pop culture knowledge, but Axel knows better. Saïx tends to hire people like Saïx: pretty, gay, kind of an asshole. And Roxas is like  _ almost _ those things. 

Well, okay, gay is up for debate. He hadn’t  _ said _ he was. But the kid  _ hadn’t _ flirted with Yuffie. Perfect, adorable, spitfire, absolute ray of golden sunshine, Yuffie, had asked if she could have his number to hang onto, and he had told her she might as well just hang out with  _ his brother _ instead and then  _ not given it to her.  _

Kid hadn’t even blinked when Axel mentioned his boyfriend. And when Axel thoughtlessly brought out the flirty jokes, instead of laughing or lashing out, Roxas’d flirted back. Licked ice cream off his fingers with a dainty pink tongue like a damn cat and fucking flirted back. 

Cute, quiet little Roxas. 

_ I mean shit.  _

It was worth further investigation, anyway.

Axel’s almost reached the next floor and is ready to abandon his search, when just out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the tiny blonde clad in black and white. Roxas glances left and right before ducking into Build-A-Bear. 

Wait. Axel does a double take but the view vanishes as the escalator climbs. 

Build-A-Bear?

_ Cute and cuddly is as cute and cuddly does? _

Well. That was worth further investigation too.    
  



	12. Jerkface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel, Zexion, Demyx, Saïx, Roxas

“That’s quite a look for you.”

Zexion barely glances up from the tie dye Lisa Frank shirts he’s folding as Axel strides into Hot Topic. Zexion has long, silvery blue side bangs that obscure half his face, and he dresses like an IT guy after a few too many beers: the sleeves of his button downs permanently rolled up, to reveal a tasteful garden of black floral tattoos that Demyx had once drunkenly dubbed ‘almost kind of sexy.’

Unlike Demyx, Zexion is allergic to tie-dye in all its forms and wastes no time getting pissy with Axel.

“I’m folding it, not buying it. And we can’t all have a closet like a slutty noir film.”

Axel hates that even when he’s riled up, Zexion speaks with a calm, neutral cadence, like he’s reading an especially dry lab report.

Before Axel can come up with a reply to this that digs a little deeper than ‘Yeah so?’ or ‘Your dad likes it’, Zexion is calling over his shoulder. “Demyx!”

The blonde bounds from the register, dodging fixtures, lunatic hairstyle bouncing, flyaways scattering.

Demyx stops a foot from the taller man and jams a finger into his solar plexus. “Jerkface!” Demyx accuses. “If I’d’ve known you’d be gone for an hour, I’d’ve come up with a cover story! I could have told Saïx work kept you late or you got eaten by bears or something!”

He knows he shouldn’t, but Axel smirks. It’s hard to take anger seriously when its coming from a man in a fuzzy unicorn sweater. “I don’t know if he’d buy that, Dem. I mean, _me_ , agree to work _late_? Am I also mind-alteringly ill?”

Typically, this would get a grin out of Demyx; even Zexion cracks the scholarly approximation of a smile, but Dem continues to glare like Axel had cut all his guitar strings.

“I hope your little date with Roxas was worth my suffering,” Demyx whines, storming to the back, fists clenched, presumably to retrieve a still sulking or livid Saïx.

Axel returns his attention to Zexion, who does a fairly convincing job of acting disinterested, smoothing over the anime-eyed dolphin silk screened on the first of the stack of tie-dyed shirts.

He doesn’t know Zexion well enough to guess who he would gossip about this to, if anyone.

“Wasn’t a date,” Axel clarifies, arms crossing, thoughts drifting back to the laughing blonde, taking an ice cream sticky finger and swiping it across Axel’s cheek.

“None of my business,” Zexion replies in a tone meant to be reassuring, quickly enough that it isn’t.

Axel groans as Demyx takes too long to bring Saïx out. They must be arguing over something in the back. Totally reassuring.

“Saïx lectured Demyx on optimal Funko placement for over fifteen minutes,” Zexion informs him.

Axel’s lip twitches with an amusement that does not placate Zexion all too much. “That does sound like Saïx.”

“I _timed_ him.”

Axel can’t even pretend to look sympathetic. “You should see our apartment.”

“Then Saïx asked him a question to see if he’d been paying attention, and Demyx said ‘um.’”

“Not a speck of dust out of place. Our spice rack is alphabetized.”

Zexion sets the shirt pile down, arms crossing. “Saïx blew up and threatened to fire him. Second time today, apparently.”

“No shit?”

Zexion fixes Axel with a single eye, and though there is nothing malicious in his gaze, the fact that he’s looking at Axel at all while they speak makes it feel downright accusatory.

“Alright, alright.” Axel tosses up his hands. Since when is he letting _Zexion_ guilt trip him? “I’ll talk to Saïx, calm him down a bit.”

Zexion raises a dark eyebrow, like this is somehow insufficient. “And Demyx?”

“Our boy Roxas almost had to work his first shift by himself this morning because _Demyx_ was getting a frappe. Saïx had to come in on his _Me_ Day to redo the schedule. Do you know how often Saïx gets to just take a day? Never. Maybe Saïx was being snippy, but you’d’ve been snippy too. Our bubble-headed bestie needs to get his shit together, alright? I'm not apologizing to Demyx.”

They spend a minute just glowering at each other, which would have made the customers laugh, if they had any, at the height difference alone.

Zexion sighs, and somehow, even _that’s_ condescending. “Sometimes I forget how unreasonable Saïx makes you.”

“Yeah, well,” Axel pockets his hands, leans back a bit, to stare at the white lights and black iron beams of the ceiling no one else ever looks at, “get it memorized.”


	13. Cuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel, Saïx, Demyx, Zexion

When Saïx walks out of the back office, all the pieces fall into place. Dem and Roxas had told Axel about the sweat and the sweatpants, and that would have been more than enough to put Saïx in a mood, really. If Saïx isn’t dressed to impress, he tends to feel as if he isn’t dressed at all.

But neither guy had been tactless enough to mention what’s really digging under Saïx’s skin. Saïx had been in such a rush to come in to his unstaffed store this morning that he hadn’t concealed the scar across the bridge of his nose. That Saïx feels self-conscious of the mark is the understatement of the century.

 _Because I look like a damned pirate, Axel,_ he had bemoaned more than once, sitting in front of his mirror, necktie askew, red-eyed exasperated. _Who’s going to take me seriously as a professional? The Godfather?_

Axel had gripped his shoulders, pale green eyes unwavering. _So, you take a page from the Godfather. You dress to kill and you_ make  _them take you seriously. You’re good at that._

Saïx had taken this advice to heart, thickened his skin to the occasional comments that came when his concealer sweated off in the island heat. He had tried to, anyway. But now the biggest gossip on staff has seen it. And Jesus knows Demyx had asked _questions_.

So, of course Saïx is in a mood, _Zexion._ Who wouldn’t be?

Axel doesn’t pause to think about whether Saïx is still irritated with him. He meets him halfway through the store and sets hands on his upper arms.

“Axel,” Saïx tries for cold but he just looks tired, lower lip jutting out, shadows below his eyes where swipes of metallic gold ought to be.  

The scar has never bothered Axel the way that people have told him it ought to. He looks at it and sees strength. Here is someone who overcame, someone who survived. The cuts were deep enough to finally get Saïx’s rabid old man as locked away as he deserved to be—deep enough to keep Saïx _safe_ —so to Axel, the scar is beautiful.

Axel leans in and plants his lips on the broad, faint X. “Hey, Sai,” he murmurs, mouth barely lifting as Saïx’s hands settle on Axel’s bony hips. “Sorry, I’m late.” He presses his lips to the cross again and then to the tip of Saïx’s nose, warm sympathy flooding his chest.

Saïx fingers knead his side gently. “Where’ve you been, baby, hm?”

The words start to freeze the warmth in Axel’s chest, and he pulls back slightly.  

So, one vulnerability has heightened another.

He can’t help but get a little ticked again. All these years of therapy, so much emotional, physical, and general life _progress_ —but when it comes to Axel, some days it feels like all Sai’s learned to do is wrap his possessive jealousy up in prettier, more socially acceptable paper.

Better than being screamed at every time he’d walked in late to fourth period study hall in ninth grade, sure, absolutely—but still kind of exhausting.

_He’s lucky I’ve been in love with him since I was five._

_Lucky I get it._

_Lucky._

_But shit. Look, he’s buffer than Rocky (Horror) and incomprehensibly dedicated to a good-for-nothing like me_.

_I’m pretty damn lucky too._

Axel runs a knuckle down Saïx’s cheek and smiles. “Nowhere special.”

Saïx realizes he’s misstepped and takes a thin breath, brows scrunching, wanting to explain. “Demyx said you were grabbing coffee, and you were gone for an hour, so I didn’t think it was unreasonable for me to wonder...”

Wonder. And send six texts. And torment Demyx. And God knew what next...

Axel closes his eyes. He decides to show mercy and ignore this remark. His fingers lace behind Saïx’s neck, his gaze shifting down to scan Saïx’s workout clothes, getting distracted. “You have no right to look sexier than me in my own damn sweatpants.”

This off-hand observation proves to be a suitable salve to Saïx’s ego, because he smirks and says, level as ever, “I beg to differ. They suit you just fine.”

Axel can’t quite reign in a bark of laughter. Axel is never letting Demyx order anything for him again. “Sai, there’s a reason I put them in _your_ drawer. They’re twice my size; they slip right off of me.”

Saïx’s pale blue brows bounce up emphatically, and his smirk is pointed. “And that’s a problem?”

 _Oh, so he_ does _remember._ The noise Axel feels in his throat is practically a purr as the heat returns to his skin.

“Oh, _gross..._ ”

Demyx is choking over all of this verbal PDA, and the couple glance over at his gaping as it evolves into audible sputtering. “Wait.” Demyx freezes, gestures emphatically at the white “THE ORGANIZATION” printed down the side of Saïx’s leg. “Saïx, are you _advertising_ for us? _You?_ How did I not notice that earlier?”

Saïx’s lips turn down. The glare he aims at Demyx knocks him back a step into the rotating piercing fixture. “This,” he smooths the first few letters with a hand, “was supposed to be between me and my pilates instructor.”

“I feel…” Demyx grasps at the empty air and looks as if the ground has split open in front of him to reveal hell itself, “strangely numb.” He blinks at the couple a few times, and Axel and Saïx untangle and separate. “Do you like, listen to our music in your free time? Oh my god. What’s your favorite song on our EP? I’m partial to “Oblivion” myself. Luxord wanted to cut it. _He_ says the best one’s “Dusks”, but I bet you... Oh my god. Unless you think the whole thing sucks.” Demyx pouts, eyes widening, puppy-like. Stumbling forward, he grabs for Saïx’s shirtfront, fingers clinging to the sturdy, ribbed tank. “You don’t, do you?”

Axel doesn’t bother to contain his laughter. He knew Saïx had their EP on his phone, but listening to your boyfriend’s band in private and admitting to being a fan to Demyx are two wildly different beasts.

Saïx does a quick assessment of the store to ensure no customers or other employees have been privy to this bizarre conversation. Satisfied that they’re alone, he slips a blue flyaway behind his ear and proceeds to pluck the fingers from his shirt, one by one, with each pull, a word, “Get. Back. Behind. The. _Register_. Demyx.”

Axel feels like he’s watching a puppy being denied table scraps.

Stunned, Demyx lets his hands drop and hops upright, spinning on a toe. “Yes, sir.”

Axel sets a hand on Saïx’s shoulder and rubs. The creases in Saïx’s forehead ease.

“And Demyx?”

Demyx twirls back around, face serious, light colored eyes still wide and childishly hopeful. “Sir?”

Saïx catches Demyx’s eye, expression stoic as ever. “I’ve listened to “Oblivion” about five hundred times. Luxord’s an imbecile.”

Saïx makes a point of ignoring Demyx’s unbridled whimper of joy, turning back to Axel with a faint, pleased yet exhausted smile.

“You’re never going to hear the end of this one,” Axel warns, smirking in return, hand on Saïx’s pec, pressing another step closer.

“I…”

“ _Welcome_ to Hot Topic, ladies,” Zexion greets with uncharacteristic vigor from his post at the mouth of the store.

Axel assumes it’s a warning to make themselves presentable, and resists the temptation to do the opposite.

Saïx glances to the customers and then to the racks and displays, and Axel knows the slightest imperfection will take him another hour to fix if Axel doesn’t act quickly.

Axel hooks a finger into the neck of Saïx’s tank and murmurs, “Wanna take this somewhere a little more private?” He bounces his brows. “I know where they keep the fitting room key.”

Saïx sighs, but he doesn’t hold back his smile this time. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m joking. Everyone knows Hot Topic fitting rooms are dirtier than Larxene’s lingerie.”

Saïx snorts in spite of himself, expression utterly disgusted, but gestures for Axel to follow him to the office. “If you were on staff, I’d write you up for saying that.”

“For saying that about the fitting room or for saying that about Larxene?”

“Both.”


	14. Nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel, Saïx, Roxas

“You get a hold of Vanitas yet?” Axel doesn’t mean to keep changing the subject, really, but seeing all the scheduling papers laid out on the office desk gets him salty all over again.

“Aqua said he’s still alive,” Saïx sets himself into the chair and begins stacking and reorganizing papers so they can head out, “but that was about all she had to say on the matter.”

“Little bastard. Probably overslept.”  

“Thank you, by the way, Axel,” Saïx sets his pen down, steeples his fingers for a moment while his breathing settles, “for checking in this morning and staying to clean up the mess.” That feels like an apology.

Axel steps up behind him, hands massaging Saïx’s upper arms, “I’m here for you. You know that.”

“I know.” He shuffles around some more papers, tucks folders and binders away. Then he sets a hand on top of the one Axel has on his right shoulder. “So…”

That feels like a catch. 

Axel tilts his head, trying to sound teasing when he wants to sound cold, “ _So…?_ ” 

“Who were you with earlier?”

Axel shrugs dismissively, and, seeing streaks of golden-blonde, gives Saïx’s shoulders a final squeeze, slipping his hands away. “Nobody important.”

Saïx spins the chair around, planting black Adidas on the concrete. “ _Which_ nobody?”

Axel pulls a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Saïx, what does it _matter?_ ” he spits back, and Saïx looks like he’s been smacked in the face.

“Axel, _please._ ”

It’s painful when he gets like this. To see someone so strong and intelligent broken down—heartbreakingly vulnerable and yet irrationally paranoid.

Axel’s tone softens, reaching out to cup Saïx’s face in a hand, leaning forward, “I need a little trust here, baby.”

Saïx tilts his chin up to press a soft kiss against his lips. “I need a _name_.”

Axel groans and pulls back. “Just tell me that you know that I love you, before I tell you who, alright?”

“My heart knows, Axel.” Ocean blue-green eyes hold only sincerity as they press at Axel’s resolve. His tiny, sad smile hurts. “But my brain’s a bit more fucked up.” Saïx stands and sometimes the inches he has on Axel feel like feet. “So, _tell_ me.”

Just because Axel understands where the insecurity’s coming from, doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it. “ _Saïx._ ”

“ _Axel._ ”

Axel sighs and flicks his hand to the side, as if introducing someone. “Roxas.”

“What?” Saïx looks to where Axel’s gestured as if trying to visualize the guy there, outrageous bedhead, inaccurate nametag, and all. “Roxas?” His nose scrunches prettily, he glances back to Axel. “ _Roxas,_ Roxas?”

Axel nods. “Yeah. Roxas.”

Saïx’s brows draw together, and he holds out on forgiveness, searching for any sign that Axel’s deceiving him. But there’s nothing to find.

“For an _hour?_ ” Saïx cracks, giggling, eyes rolling to the ceiling, as if he can’t believe Axel’s put him through this emotional ordeal for the sake of someone as cute, tiny, and insignificant as Roxas. “God. _Why?_ ”

“Took him for ice cream,” Axel supplies sheepishly, and scratches at the nape of his neck. “Wanted to make his first day suck a little less, I guess.”

Saïx full on smiles, that huge, delighted, sanctimonious grin that he doesn’t let his employees see. His arms cross and he stares at Axel like he’s seeing him in a new light. “Well, how about that.”

Axel fights off a relieved grin of his own. “Ah, come off it, already.”

Saïx sidles forward, hands on Axel’s sides like he’s going to try something, and Axel elbows him in the spleen.  

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you.”

Saïx glances from this nonexistent wound to Axel’s eyes, lips stretching up like he’s terribly amused. “Since when do you _care?_ ”

Axel contemplates this. Once upon a time, he’d made an effort to befriend all of Saïx’s Hot Topic employees. He’d played gigs with Demyx, placed bets with Luxord, let Xigbar tat him up... Hell, he’d even say he’d been friendly with Cloud, Xaldin, Larxene, and Lex.

But then, shit had gone down with Vexen, and when the bastard had the balls to show up for his next shift, Axel had snapped his fingers at Saïx, and said, “Fire his ass,” and Saïx had done it, no questions asked.

It was a small store and word travelled fast. Everyone got paranoid. Axel lost track of who hated his guts and who tolerated him. The trust he had won slipped away, and it seemed like more trouble than it was worth to earn back. After all, they weren’t wrong, really. Saïx comes first. Always has.

So, when the next batch of employees were hired: Aqua, Zexion, Vanitas... it just didn’t seem worth the effort any more.

“Dunno,” Axel says finally, weakly, shrugging again, trying to look tougher than he feels. “I just…did. He seemed like he could use a friend.”

The grin makes a stunning reappearance, and Saïx rubs his nose against Axel’s. “Well, aren’t you just adorable?”

Axel presses his hands to Saïx’s chest, mentally cursing the fact that he can feel the muscles below the thin material, and pushes the man back a smidge. “Shut the fuck up, Saïx.”

Saïx puts on that pompous asshole smirk that Axel’s such a sucker for. “Make me.”

“Alright.” Axel grins, tightening his grip on Saïx’s tank and pulling him closer until their torsos melt together and their lips hover an inch apart. Ignoring the scent of pilates and the taste of sea salt lingering on the back of his tongue, Axel closes the distance. 


	15. Chill Blacksmith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Lexaeus

Evergreen tinsel and strings of white lights frame every store window along the upper floor of the Destiny Island Shopping Mall. Roxas admires them as he walks to work, the silver wire of his earbuds playing at his neck, protecting him from “All I Want For Christmas Is a Real Good Tan” and the other tongue-in-cheek island favorites that had gotten old when he was all of twelve. He stops when he gets to the window where the tinsel falls short, and ducks inside.

With the front windows blacked out and the floorspace crowded with fixtures, Roxas, at his height, can’t tell who’s at the register or walking the aisleways until he’s right in front of them, and by then it’s too late.

But Roxas isn’t one to back down from confrontation, even when maybe he should.

By the time Lex’s bulking form appears behind a rolling rack of soft-hued dresses with lacy collars in subtle prints of florals, skulls, and florals with skulls, Lex has likely seen him coming for miles.

With his russet hair, towering form, bulging muscles, and solemn expression, Lex initially reminded Roxas of the Greek god Hephaestus. Good old Hephaestus was a plain-faced blacksmith who chilled all day at his forge making badass weapons and armor instead of starting drama and shit like all the other gods.

Despite their argument last shift, Roxas still gets the impression that Lex is usually chill, and if for his sheer size alone, not someone he wants to be on the bad side of, like ever anyway.

So Roxas squares his shoulders, plucks out an earbud, and strides right up to the man. “G’morning, Lex.” It comes out pleasant enough, if a bit tired, but hey, he had to get up before noon for this, so he’s allowed to be tired.

“Roxas…” Lex starts, expression sheepish, voice pained, chill blacksmith status confirmed. “Good morning.”

Roxas nods, a good natured, bro nod, because it’s all he can think to do, and shuffles his Conversed feet to keep going.

Lex clears his throat as if he has something more to stay, and Roxas stops.

“How did it go, your first day?” Lex’s question sounds nonchalant, or it would if he weren’t wearing the expression of someone having a splinter pulled from their palm.

Roxas pockets his hands, shrugs. “Axel got me all sorted out, so.” He doesn’t want to seem like a pushover, but the gentle giant looks so damn apologetic, Roxas can’t even be properly mad.

The image of Axel sprawled out on his back with a popsicle stick poking out of his mouth like a happy toddler after a tee-ball game sends an unexpected gush of gooey warmth to his chest. This doesn’t help him with his bitter thing any either.

Roxas musters a smile. “All good, right? How was…” Roxas cringes. He hadn’t even asked Lex what the emergency was before getting pissed at him for trying to take off. “…your thing?”

Lex tucks a dress he hasn’t been actually paying attention to back in amongst the other hangers and then looks down at Roxas, thoughtfully. “Look,” he says in his narrator voice, “I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have left you like that; it’s not something I do, ordinarily.”

Roxas gets the odd feeling that he has just heard more words from Lex in a minute than he typically says in a day. Again, Roxas smiles, tries not to laugh outright at the thought that this god of the forge is like eleven times his size and hulking over him all concerned, anxiously shuffling his feet.

“It wasn’t your fault nobody showed up. I get that. I was just nervous and when I’m nervous I get a little ticked.” Roxas, rubs at his arm, and his smile turns a little self-deprecating. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Lex smiles. Well… he stops frowning, which Roxas thinks counts. “My sister had this holiday choir concert.” His arms cross, thoughtfully, almost brooding. “I didn’t have time to change, so my mother kept grumbling that I looked like a hoodlum, but my sister had this solo and it was… incredible… I mean, she’s in middle school, so she sang it like a prima donna,” he chuckles, a deep, almost wistful sound, “but she was just… _so happy_   that I was there.”

As Lex turns back to lift an armful of dresses, Roxas imagines him smushed into a tight row of auditorium seats, next to a tiny old lady with paler russet curls, dressed in some hideous lavender get up that she calls her Sunday best, tugging at the giant’s ear and gesturing menacingly to his fading, black pants, brown leather jacket, and white muscle tee.

Roxas bites down on his tongue to keep the giggle in.

Lex must mistake the strangled sound he makes, because when he’s settled the dresses hung on his arm amid the others on the wall display, he turns back to Roxas. “What Axel said, about me hitting you…”

“Hey, hey,” Roxas tosses up innocent hands, seeing grief in the sag of the man’s shoulders, “he was joking. I knew you weren’t going to…” Roxas gestures vaguely rather than finish the sentences. He knew nothing of the sort, but it seems like the right thing to say to avoid a repeat scenario.

“No.” Lex nods, stepping back to avoid the hand Roxas reaches out with to pat his arm with and say ‘there, there’, which okay, fine. “But there was a time in my life I would’ve.”

_These people are an absolute fucking mess._

Roxas works his jaw. He figures he probably shouldn’t say that.

“I haven’t always… been the best brother, so,” Lex settles the last of the dresses in place, and meets Roxas’ eyes more steadily, “I’m trying to make up for lost time.”

“That’s…” Roxas’ chest fills with warmth and he reaches once more to pat Lex’s arm, and this time Lex lets him, “really cool of you, man. Congrats.”

Lex nods and the silence begins to stretch between them, filled with beats which somewhere in the back of his mind, Roxas is relieved to hear still sound like regular Hot Topic jams and not punk rock Christmas covers or some other hybrid atrocity.   

“Now,” Roxas adjusts one of the dresses about to give its hanger the slip, “please tell me nobody actually buys these things.”

Lex does that thing where he frowns less again, tugging at a beige number with a black lace collar and a scorpion print. “I’ve seen worse.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for your incredibly kind and thoughtful comments. I really wasn't expecting anyone to look at this fic, and I feel like I should be issuing an apology at the end of each chapter for how much ridiculousness and self-indulgence is going down. But I kind of love it, and I hope you like it too <3
> 
> I feel the need to note that the scorpion print dress is real. It was part of a Penny Dreadful line a while back.


	16. Dystopia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Aqua, Vanitas, Lex

Lex and Roxas make their way to the back room together, one clocking in and the other clocking out. The store has a new shipment in, and the entire space is packed with towers of white boxes that need to be processed. As Roxas types thirteens into the time clock, Lex pokes around through the maze of boxes and half-filled rolling garment racks.

“Aqua?”

“Right here,” calls a pleasant female voice, and as Roxas glances over, he sees a pale hand with long black nails poke out from the clutter.

“I have to be going,” Lex calls, “but first, I’d like you to meet Roxas. He’s new and... could use some guidance.”

 _And doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing,_ is how Roxas might have phrased it, but this seems nicer.

“Sure! Hang on.” The hand tugs aside a clothing rack and is soon followed by a young woman with a bob of blue hair a few shades darker than Saïx’s. She’s wearing a short, cotton candy pink dress with a flare skirt under a cropped, studded black leather jacket. It’s all very Sandy at the end of _Grease_ , but she’s owning it.

Studded leather jackets seem to be standard issue dress code here. Roxas wonders if his went the way of his name tag.

Lex introduces them, and Roxas reflects on what Axel told him about Aqua. _Kick-ass Mom Friend._ He sees the ‘kick-ass’ part clear as day. She’s around 5’10”, and black ballet flats or no, the set of her shoulders and the dark, smoky grays of her make-up read ‘don’t fuck with me.’ Like she could knock you on your back mid-cartwheel and not smear her lipstick.

She certainly doesn’t seem like your stereotypical Mom Friend. That is until the moment she opens her mouth. A million questions exit, her enthusiasm alarmingly genuine: where’s he from and what’s his major and is he seeing any nice young men and is he nervous to be starting a new job?

Roxas answers as best he can. Grew up on the islands. At school on the mainland: Twilight Tech. One more semester left in a Communications major, hoping to go into radio or podcasting, but open to other adventures. Wants to travel. Single. Or as Sora would say a ‘single Pringle.’ Oh god, don’t tell Sora I’m quoting him. Younger. He’s alright, just a bit much sometimes. Not nervous but definitely confused. Are we legally allowed to sell both Marvel _and_ DC? Do people actually _wear_ Justin Bieber t-shirts? For real, what _is_ Hot Cash?

He realizes with a funny pang that none of these get-to-know-you questions had cropped up the other day with Axel. It had been like they were already past that when they hadn’t even gotten to it. Maybe it’s always that way when you click with somebody.

Rather than answer his questions, Aqua laughs and waves him off. “Can you take the floor and the register for a sec, Roxas? I’m almost finished loading this and Lex is probably out there waiting.”

Roxas nods, not bothering to check if Aqua can see him from where she is, and heads out to the floor. He waves as Lex goes and its returned with a genuine, if tiny, smile. Progress.

Roxas has only just stepped behind the register and slipped on Cloud’s lanyard when someone new walks in.

The guy appears to be about Sora’s height and age: short, maybe nineteen. His hair’s a nest of black spikes that look like they haven’t seen a comb in several weeks. Actually, maybe _that’s_ what reminds him of Sora.

“Hello!” Roxas calls out, because it seems like the thing to do.

The guy ignores him, which, okay, fair—retail—but continues to approach. He wears a navy blazer with a golden crest on the breast pocket like he attends boarding school, and he wears a scowl like he just got kicked out of it. A pair of expensive white headphones stick out between tufts of hair as if in apology for his unresponsiveness.

“Can I help you with anything, man?” Roxas tries again, louder, and said young man stops for a second, brows rising before continuing his path, past the register, and then slipping behind it and sliding in right next to Roxas.

Roxas backs off a step in surprise, and the guy smirks, reaching for a lower shelf to grab his lanyard from atop a box of, well, Roxas has no idea, obviously. It’s only his second day.

“Hey, I’m Roxas.” Roxas gestures to his chest to make it clear he’s communicating. It feels very “I-Tarzan. You-Jane,” but it gets the job done.

The other guy raises an eyebrow and dangles the nametag at the end of his lanyard up a bit, not bothering to slide off his headphones. Then he turns on a quilted black combat boot and struts off. Roxas makes out the strange jumble of letters at the last second.

_Vanitas._

The guy who had bailed on his shift last time and left Roxas for dead.

Charming.

 

Roxas directs a pair of lost looking tourists in punk clothes and loose Hawaiian shirts toward the food court and retrieves a handful of mini buttons from the floor where it appears as though someone had vindictively flung them at a cashier. He’s returning them to their display box in front of the registers when Vanitas strides out, headphones still on, pulling Aqua behind him by the sleeve. She’s hauling a large, white cardboard box of accessories in her free arm.

Vanitas gestures to Roxas with a thumb, and Aqua raises a blue brow. He gestures again with both hands and Aqua sighs, tugging down Vanitas’ headphones. His facial reaction is more like she’s pantsed him, but she appears unimpressed.

Roxas thinks he hears Brendon Urie crooning faintly from said headphones, which he gets a kick out of, if only because Panic! at the Disco is already playing on the store’s overhead speakers.

It’s like Vanitas’ mouth has been switched on, and he glares up at Aqua, not without fondness. “Why’re there so many of us?” He gazes at Roxas again, up and down, as if taking his measurements. “Did Saïx finally lose his shit and decide to go all _Hunger Games_ on our asses? Because I’ll be real,” he glances back to Aqua with a sharp grin, “I’ve been waiting for it since day one.”

Roxas noisily drops the last few buttons back into the bin and chokes down a huff of laughter. He hasn’t known Saïx long, but with how high-strung he is, it’s easy to picture those strings snapping.

Aqua rakes fingers down her face, shakes her head. “Vanitas, for God’s sake.”

“Hey, my money’s on you, Aqua,” Vanitas glances down at his phone to dismiss his music, though “Let’s Kill Tonight” feels strangely timely. “Larxene’s a scrappy little B witch, but Aqua’s got a dark side,” he continues casually, sliding his phone to his back pocket.

Roxas raises his brows, wondering if it might be true, considering she appears to be friends with Vanitas, who appears to be no ray of sunshine himself. Both turn to Aqua, who’s digging through the accessories, trying to extract one scarf without sending half the box tumbling.  

“I say we team up,” Vanitas proposes, twirling his lanyard around his finger like he’s not alluding to Roxas’ dystopian murder.

Aqua rolls her eyes and refuses to laugh, propping the box on her hip and angling herself between the guys as Roxas crosses the checkout line space to meet them, clutching at his own lanyard.

“There are two of us because of the holidays and three because he’s a new hire and still learning the ropes.” Aqua hands a silver and green striped scarf off to Vanitas and pushes him back the step he tries to take, staving off his smirk. “ _Not_ because Saïx is hoping we’ll do him a favor and kill each other.”

“Yeah,” Roxas’ brows rise, darkly amused, in spite of himself, “imagine all the extra paperwork that would be.”

Aqua scoffs with mild disapproval, and Vanitas misses the remark entirely as he wraps the scarf around his own throat, eyebrows furrowing. He watches Aqua hand Roxas a winter hat with Pikachu ears.

“Jesus, how many spikey haired blondes do we _need?_ ”

“Prompto left, Cloud barely subs any more, we have to have _one_ ,” Aqua teases, lip quirking up as she nudges Vanitas’ shoulder.

Vanitas huffs exaggeratedly and steps closer to the _Harry Potter_ merch. “Fuck that.” He glances at Roxas again, like he’s trying to gauge his reaction, so Roxas keeps it neutral. “I’m not learning your name.”    

Roxas shrugs, deepening Vanitas’ scowl and efficiently killing all connections in his mind between the dude and Sora.

Axel’d said Saïx wanted desperately to fire Vanitas. Roxas suddenly has more sympathy for his uptight boss. 

Aqua eyes Roxas thoughtfully, like she can sense his inner unease. He doesn’t want to be making any more waves here. He needs this job—needs money. To pay off his rent—to pay back Seifer.

“Ignore him.” She piles more warm, geeky hats in Roxas’ arms. “He has insomnia and sometimes it _puts him in a mood._ ”

“All the fucking time,” Vanitas growls in the distance, hidden by the displays.

Aqua tosses a hand up in mild exasperation and offers Roxas a reassuring smile outlined in charcoal lipstick. “We’re happy to have you here, Roxas. Both of us. Really.”

“Um,” Roxas attempts to smile back, resisting all impulses to bitch and argue, repositioning the pile in his arms, and realizing he has no idea where any of it goes, “okay. If you say so.”


	17. Black Denim, Black Belt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Vanitas

Roxas stands behind the Hot Topic checkout counter, poised to ring up a pair of shorts more silver spikes than black denim for a little blonde middle schooler in pigtails.

“So, uh, who wants to show me how to log in?”

Vanitas drags himself over and watches Roxas flipping through menus, deftly setting down the shorts without stabbing himself, while the blonde girl levels up in Candy Crush. Sighing at Roxas’ complete and utter hopelessness, Vanitas elbows him out of his way and begins swiping back through screens so fast the newbie feels a bit motion sick. _Show off._

When the girl is checked out, Roxas turns to give Vanitas reluctant thanks.

Reluctant because, while Roxas and Aqua had been on a scavenger hunt around the store finding proper homes for a fresh shipment of accessories, _Vanitas_ had been ambling behind them, doing nothing of the sort. Unless you counted making snide comments and placing things only when Aqua physically shoved them into his hands, which Roxas did not.

Vanitas sneers, flicks fingers scattered with thin, jagged bronze rings in Roxas’ direction. “God, who trained you? _Demyx?_ ”  
  
Heat rises in Roxas’ throat, hipster glasses bouncing as his nose scrunches. “No, you and Demyx didn’t _show up_ , remember?” He leans an arm on the counter, eyes daring Vanitas to continue.  “We were in a rush, so Axel logged me in.”

Vanitas has been turning away due to his severe lack of interest in being nagged, but finds himself pausing. “ _Axel?_ ” The corners of his mouth drag down and he gags a bit, “Ugh, I wasn’t going to apologize, but shit.” He contemplates Roxas’ less than sympathetic expression with curiosity. “He’s worse than Saïx. Doesn’t let anybody get away with shit. Talks like a god damn late-night radio host. Thinks he’s _hilarious_ …”

Roxas pictures Axel calling out Lex for trying to ditch Roxas. Remembers him on the phone flirting exaggeratedly with their boss in _that_ voice to distract him from the minor crisis. Decides he likes Vanitas even less with every word out of his mouth.

But he needs to get through the rest of the shift with him, and probably more, so he’s going to need to play nice.   

“Look, I don’t know,” Roxas admits, fingers running through his bangs, “maybe they _are_ hardasses. But Axel and Saïx _showed_ up, which made them infinitely more helpful than anybody else.”

Than _you._

Roxas tries not to full-on grit his teeth. That might be a bit of a give away.

Vanitas lip quirks back up, mocking, amused, “Trust me, Cloud. You don’t want me training you in anything.” With this advice imparted, he stalks off, like he might actually, possibly go help Aqua.

“Defending _Axel._ ” Vanitas shakes his head as if Roxas has managed to become an immense disappointment to him in the course of their fifteen-minute relationship. “Jesus.”

Roxas sees a flicker of insanely green eyes, feels the swipe of fingers upsetting his hair, hears that low, smooth voice. _Welcome to the family._

“Yeah, well, at least _Axel_ didn’t blow me off,” Roxas says to his back, not as quietly as he means to, because _fuck it_ , this kid had no right to be pissing him off this much.

 _He’s like_ Sora’s _age._

_And short._

Vanitas doesn’t turn around, but again pauses. “Oh, well, hey,” he tosses up a hand, tone nonchalant. “I’m sure he’d have blown you if you’d asked him to.”

Roxas feels like he’s behind the wheel on the freeway and the car in front of him has come to a complete stop.

“What’d you just say to me?”

Vanitas scarcely turns his head, just enough for Roxas to see a light brown iris gauging his reaction, to pick up on the faint smirk.

Roxas mind shoves him back through the time he’s spent with the Hot Topic manager. Axel walking him to a staff meeting, helping him clock in and learn the register, chatting about cake, buying him ice cream, teasing him for making a mess.

And yeah. Roxas had admitted to himself he’d been crushing a bit on the tall, goth, and gorgeous red head. He had admitted it again more than once in the twenty-four hours since, when he glimpsed dark orange-red and electric green in his daydreams.

But there is no way in hell _Vanitas_ could know that.  

Roxas rapidly concludes Vanitas is just being a complete and total dick.

Yeah, Axel had been mildly flirty with his coworkers, but he was a far cry from overzealous or desperate. Not to mention the clear devotion that Roxas had seen flit across his face when he mentioned his _boyfriend._

But Vanitas doesn’t stop there. Apparently noting he hasn’t swayed Roxas’ good opinion, he shifts tactics.

“Might’ve gotten you fired, but hey,” he teases, soft, low, “he seems like he’d know what he’s doing, so probably worth it.”

Roxas’ hands unconsciously form fists, and Vanitas responds with the widest grin he’s worn all day.

“Oh, a bad ass, are we?” Vanitas sings, hands folding and rising in a Jane Austen-ly swoon, “Axel must’ve _loved_ that.”

Roxas takes a breath, calmer than he has any right to be, and unclenches his fists.

Vanitas doesn’t know anything. He’s just trying to piss him off, and Roxas doesn’t start fights, he ends them. And like hell he’s letting himself get fired on Day 2.  He needs to pay off his rent, his tuition, his textbooks, his midnight takeout orders, fucking _Seifer…_

“You’re lucky I really need this job,” Roxas says, even, straight-faced.

Seifer turns out to be the wrong person to think about at the moment. Seifer would have destroyed this punk by now. Hell. Maybe Axel would’ve too. Roxas had seen cords of muscle anchoring his lanky arms. Though he seems more likely to throw shade than punches.

Some of that must cross Roxas’ face, because Vanitas turns back around, leans forward, too close, until Roxas can smell an excess of cologne, like Vanitas showered in Hollister. “Don’t let that stop you.”

Vanitas doesn’t have much in the way of muscle or, apparently, tact. He steps away like he’s leaving, but winds his arm back like an amateur. When he moves to jab Roxas, he finds his fist caught easily in the petite blonde’s palm.

“Really?” Roxas cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t be stupid.”

Vanitas, huffs, swiping out with his opposite fist, form scrappy, unpracticed. He barely clips the bare skin below Roxas’ shoulder, and Roxas can’t quite hold back a smirk as he catches the guy’s wrist, gives him a solid shove back.

He thinks it’s less that Vanitas has insomnia and more that he’s probably been possessed by the spawn of Satan.

Vanitas staggers several steps, gasping out a few quick breaths. Regaining his footing, he backsteps from the cramped space behind the register.

Roxas follows suit, unwilling to be trapped, should Vanitas lose his shit again. He is not disappointed.

When Roxas reaches the aisle, Vanitas lunges for his middle to drag them both to the floor. _Down to his level,_ thinks Roxas, grimly.

But Roxas, never unprepared, gets in a hard, fast punch to Vanitas’ gut that sends him sprawling, grunting, across the ground in the aisle between _My Neighbor Totoro_ and _Pusheen the Cat_.

Vanitas stares up at him, wide eyes reflecting yellow under the fluorescents. His breaths come fast.

Roxas stands over him, frowns, fingers absentmindedly raking up his hair, knuckles pulsing, the familiar pound of miniature heartbeats. “I told you not to be stupid.”


	18. Happy Hunger Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Vanitas, Aqua

Roxas uses the toe of one of his black and white checkboard Vans to prod at the rib of the young man sprawled in front of him. “You wanna get up?”

Vanitas presses a hand to the bruising in his gut and does not respond.

Roxas isn’t sure what he can do at this point, but Aqua spares him the trouble of deciding, returning from the back rooms with another oversized cardboard box in her arms.

Both guys jolt at the thump as Aqua’s box of accessories hits the sale’s floor. The entire thing topples sideways, spilling a cascade of cute plushies and menacing chokers, sunglasses, winter hats with ears and comic book themed bikini tops.

She’s at Roxas’ side in an instant. “What the hell happened?”

Vanitas groans pitifully, and Roxas glowers, volume rising, “The fuck is wrong with you?” Roxas looms above Vanitas, half expecting to see Venom crawl out of his mouth. He turns to Aqua who stands, massaging her temple and scanning Vanitas for external injuries. “The fuck is wrong with him?”

Aqua connects the dots fairly quickly as Roxas cradles his fist and Vanitas whimpers. She pushes Roxas a step back by the shoulder, and he lets her.

“He’s trying to get himself _fired,_ ” she says.

Vanitas opens his eyes a slit with the sole purpose of glaring at her. 

“And he doesn’t need your help.” Her lips purse, narrowed eyes redirecting to Roxas. “Try not to kill each other while I grab the ice.”

 

“Axel didn’t tell me you were certifiably insane,” Roxas mutters as Aqua steps off behind the register. 

“ _Me?”_ Vanitas struggles to sit, doesn’t quite make it, lays back down and shuts his eyes. “I didn’t know you were in the fucking Fight Club, jackass.”

“Black belt, jackass. That’s my point. You don’t know me, you talk shit about me and my only friend here, and then you come at me trying to…” Roxas’ gestures turn vague as Vanitas’ eyes twitch back open, amused with the vulnerability that exasperation has brought to Roxas’ voice.

“Well, I don’t know what you thought you were going to accomplish, swinging like _that,_ ” Roxas concludes frankly, as the guy’s expression goes rigid, “but…”

“Roxas, you are not helping,” Aqua seethes from behind and below the register _. Do they keep the first aid kit there? Does this happen often?_

“Your only friend is…”  Vanitas glances to the side, rubs the back of his head, lip jutting out as his thoughts churn.

Roxas knows he shouldn’t have said that, but he’s made his bed, so he may as well jump on it.

The small blonde leans over him once more, inspecting his knuckles. “Say one more thing about Axel. Go ahead.”

“Shit,” Vanitas replies breathily, managing to sit up, a wince marring his grin. “Now _I’m_ kind of turned on. Maybe the three of us…”

Roxas sees red. He lunges, but Aqua grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him backward, her long nails digging.

“That’s it!” Pale blue eyes shift between them, tone Mom Level angry and disappointed, “I’m calling Xaldin.”

Roxas can’t remember who Xaldin is, but he doesn’t sound like someone he’d want called. “Please, don’t.” His blue eyes go wide and childlike with alarm, and her grip loosens when he doesn’t pull at it.

“What?” Vanitas scrambles to his feet, yanking down his faux uniform blazer, brushing off the dirt. He whirls on Aqua. “ _Why?_ ”

“Seriously, Van?” Aqua chucks the icepack at his chest and turns on her heel toward the register and the store phone.

“Hey, no. Aqua!” Vanitas objects calmly, waving with the ice pack. “Don’t call him. It’s fine.”

“It’s fine?” Her brows rise though she stops. “He just decked you.”

“Yeah, but I was asking for it.” Vanitas trails her, cocky as ever, a hand against her back. “C’mon. No need to make a fuss. We’re cool, now,” he pauses, hand dropping, turns back to Roxas whose jaw has borderline detached itself from the rest of his face, “right, Fight Club?”

Vanitas holds a hand up for Roxas’. Roxas wonders if Vanitas has a split personality like Jekyll and Hyde or Betty Cooper on _Riverdale_.

With a pang, Roxas realizes he could get fired from not just Hot Topic, but the entire mall for this incident.

_Merry Fucking Christmas, Roxas. You’re never going to pay it all back._

 “I...” Roxas wants to say no, keep the asshole knocked to the ground. But he shrugs, shakes his head, “Yeah, whatever, man. Just don’t try it again.”

Vanitas nods, smile not quite sincere enough for Roxas’ liking. “Of course.”

Roxas clasps his raised hand. Their elbows knock, their fingers squeeze, and then they brush past each other. “Happy Hunger Games,” Roxas says.

If Vanitas is anything like Roxas’ ex, Seifer, one display of bravado should be enough to earn his respect, or at least direct his attention to weaker targets.

Yeah. There had been a reason that relationship hadn’t lasted.

It seems to work though. Vanitas flat out beams at the jab.

It’s Aqua’s turn to balk. “Vanitas, are you sure that’s how you want to play this? You part ways unlikely friends?”

Vanitas nods, thumbing at his lanyard, rubbing absentmindedly at the bruise on his stomach with the ice pack. Feeling their eyes on him, he turns to Aqua. “Think maybe I should take fifteen and think about what I’ve done.”

“...Vani.” She gives him another hard look, but it softens, apparently more convinced than Roxas is that he’s resolved himself to making nice. “Alright… We’ll let you know if we defeat any Heartless.”

“If we...” Roxas straightens his hipster glasses like it’ll help him hear, “ _what?_ ”

Vanitas flashes a gum commercial white smile as he turns toward the entrance. “Knock ‘em dead, Blue.”

“ _What…_?”


	19. Training Video #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Aqua, Demyx, Zexion, Axel, Xigbar, Vexen, Saïx, Xaldin, Luxord, Larxene, Cloud

“You’re giving me this look like I’m crazy.” Aqua’s kneeling next to a spilled box of accessories, trying to make all the mismatched objects fit again, so that they can be carted around and placed. She reminds Roxas vaguely of a young mom stealing her kid’s stuff for a garage sale.  

“Uh…yup.” Roxas has moved to stand beside her, with the intention of helping her out and getting some answers, god damn it, but now he’s not sure how to do either. The box is mostly full and he’s not entirely sure _what_ he just heard Aqua and Vanitas discussing.  

_A band? A video game? Creatures from the deep?_

“I take it nobody told you about the Heartless yet,” she concludes with a light, knowing smile.

“Uh...nope?” Roxas agrees finally, picking up a Game of Thrones eye shadow palette that had slid over beside his foot and offering it to her. She smiles, and Roxas’ chest lightens a bit, relieved her anger has abated after his argument with that dick Vanitas, and she seems to be willing to give him a second chance. Mainly because dark Aqua had been the stuff nightmares are made of.

“They didn’t have you watch all the training videos?”  

Roxas shrugs, opening a palm. “Saïx showed me, like, the video on shoplifting: ‘Be nice and hope for the best.’” Okay, so it had been a little more complicated than that, but just a little. “But that was really all…”

“Mhmm,” Aqua nods thoughtfully, standing. Settling the box on her hip, she steps behind the checkout counter and deposits it on the narrow space between the computer monitor and a display box. “Saïx only shows the _official_ training videos.”

She looks to Roxas, who follows her behind the register, unsure what he should be doing and apparently appearing concerned enough that she puts on her comforting voice, sets a hand on the counter between them like she wants to pat him in sympathy, but they just met so it’d be weird.

“Don’t be upset with him, though. He’s just trying not to get sacked. You know, Axel told me once the closest Hot Topic to us has been through at least five managers since Saïx has started. Which is probably why Saïx can be such a fun-suck.”

Sympathy tugs at Roxas’ heartstrings. He wonders if it’s ever occurred to Demyx and Vanitas that part of the reason Saïx is so strict is because he’s under pressure of his own. Mostly, Saïx has been professional and polite. Well, except when he’s mocking them all mercilessly, in his blink-and-you-miss-it deadpan, but Roxas kind of admires that.   

“I really don’t think he’s…I mean he’s actually kind of hilarious if you pay attention to literally anything that comes out of his mouth...”

Aqua isn’t listening any more. With the large box blocking her from the eyes of any customers that might wander in, (and this early, there aren’t likely to be any), she has fished out her smartphone and begun swiping through screens. “Here. I think I still have a copy…”

The discussion halts as the video starts with a loud, electric guitar thrum, and the phone exchanges hands.

_“HEY HOTTIES!”_

_The tiny screen erupts into sensory overload. An explosion of flames, the sound of an engine backfiring, and heavy rock music smash together; the words “HOT TOPIC TRAINING VIDEO #2” flashing white across the black, flaming screen._

_Demyx appears with black, star shaped sunglasses perched on his forehead, wearing a white shirt with black cap sleeves and a realistic image of the head and neck of duckling peeking up from the bottom half._

_“_ My name’s Demyx, in the place to be! _” he raps, a la_ Hamilton _, arms spreading, and the camera zooms out. They’re in Hot Topic, of course._

_The cameraman starts to beatbox. He’s not terrible. Keeps a steady rhythm, at least._

_“_ Got my new best friend—Zexion—workin’ with me! _”_

_The lyrics, those are terrible._

_Demyx wraps an arm around a shorter man, Zexion’s, shoulders. He has silvery blue emo bangs, straight posture, and the expression of someone who would rather be literally anywhere else._

_“Alright, wait,” Zexion interrupts, shrugging free of the arm, twisting to face the golden retriever of a dude. “Firstly, we just met today.”_

_“Yeah,” Demyx’s grin could blind, “but I can just tell.”_

_“Secondly,” Zexion’s arms cross, unimpressed, “if this is going to be a rap video, I am not participating.”_

_Demyx’s processes this for a moment with a frown, and a just as sudden smile. “You can rap too!”_

_Zexion stares for a moment as if offering Demyx an opportunity to use his brain cells, and when that doesn’t happen, starts to leave._

_“Wait. Zexion!” Demyx scrambles after him, off camera, with the cameraman laughing hysterically in the background in a voice that’s distinctively Axel’s. “Wait!”_

“Oh God,” Roxas runs fingers down his face in second-hand embarrassment. “Is the whole thing like this?”

Aqua giggles, fingertips to her lips, shakes her head and smirks. “Don’t worry. It gets worse.”

_Demyx has returned to the center of the screen, his shoulders and lips weighed down with dejection. “Looks like it’s just me.”_

_“You start rapping again, and I’m pulling the plug,” teases the cameraman. Definitely Axel._

_“Your camera doesn’t even have a plug, Axel, so there.” Demyx plants his fists on his hips and sticks out his tongue._

_The video shuts off._

Roxas snorts loudly. Aqua shakes her head again wistfully and steps up to Roxas’ side to see better.

_“Hey ya, Hotties,” greets a new voice, cocky, gruff and slow, like a Southerner turned surfer. It belongs to a brunette man around Luxord’s age. He tugs at one of the lapels of his leather jacket. He’s dressed like the head of a biker gang and wears a ponytail and eyepatch like he’d rather be a pirate. When he gestures to the camera, tattoos appear at his wrists._

“I think that’s Xigbar,” Aqua offers in response to the miffed expression on Roxas’ face.

_“We’re here today to talk to you about:”_

_“CUSTOMER SERVICE!” Demyx enthuses from beside him, hands folding, grin bright and then flickering. “We were going to rap for you, but I was outvoted.”_

_The easily disheartened blonde bows his head and Xigbar smiles down at him like he can think of better uses for Demyx’s mouth than busting rhymes._

_“There, there, sugar,” he soothes, mildly taunting. A beefy arm wraps Demyx’s shoulder, his hand patting lightly._

When Demyx cuddles into the older, taller man’s grip, Roxas kind of wants to vomit. It feels a little like watching a bunny cuddle up to a king cobra.

_Reenergized by the less than selfless show of support, Demyx remembers his spiel, continuing brightly, “Most of the people who walk into Hot Topic are—”_

_“Middle school girls?” Xigbar cuts in, brows bouncing._

_Demyx freezes. There’s a loud snort behind the camera._

_Demyx nods, even his smile going still before he manages to concede with an eye roll, “Right, okay, true.” Demyx elbows Xigbar in the ribs for his interruption, and Xigbar’s confident grin brightens, though Demyx gets away with it unscathed._

_“But most of our_ paying _customers here at Hot Topic are total nerds,” Demyx insists. The screen flashes to a man with a silvery blond ponytail and a light brown sweater vest over white and blue plaid leaning across the checkout counter._

“Vexen,” Aqua identifies, when Roxas’ gaze flicks up to her. “Fired.”

_“And BAMFs.” The screen cuts to Xigbar giving a cheeky, two fingered salute._

“Quit,” Aqua tacks on.

_“And even nerdy BAMFs.” Cut to Axel threading a blue and gold striped scarf around Saïx’s neck, as Saïx rolls his eyes and turns his head to hide a wry smile._

“Messy,” she—admits, maybe.

So, the guys _are_ friends. Roxas, notes, bemused. _Weird._

_“All living in harmony!” Demyx concludes, appearing back on screen, hands clapping together._

_Eye patch guy snorts, turning toward Demyx. “Why do you keep saying ‘BAMFs’ like it’s a thing.” He leans in closer than strictly necessary, another smirk teasing his lips. “It’s not a thing.”_

_Demyx turns as well, eyes widening, hands opening in front of him, emphatically. “This is a training video, Xigbar! I can’t just say BAMF.”_

_Xigbar backhands Demyx’s shoulder. “Pussy.”_

_Demyx startles back a step. “I don’t think you can say that either.”_

_“I just did.”_

_Demyx sighs, like, after all this, he is just now realizing Xigbar is here to fuck with him. “Never mind, Ax’ll edit it out. My point is,” he regains his enthusiasm, the camera zooms in, “most of our customers are awesome, refined, sophisticated human beings.”_

_Cut to footage of Luxord and Xigbar at a table in a sunroom, dressed in black clothes and silver chains, sipping tea from white china cups and reading newspapers, while classical music plays in the background._

Roxas abruptly chokes and Aqua offers a light giggle, though whether to Roxas’ reaction or the tea party, he can’t be sure. He takes back his judgment of Xigbar. He must have liked Demyx quite a bit to do _that_.

_“They say things like…” prompts Demyx’s voiceover as the camera pans to Zexion with his Hot Topic lanyard standing with a tall man with dramatic, manicured sideburns and a ponytail of thick dreads._

_“Thank you for your help.”_

It’s like the British Invasion in here.

“I met him,” Roxas recalls.

Aqua tilts the phone and squints, “Xaldin. He’s our number three.”

Roxas breathes out a ‘huh?’

“Assistant manager. Saïx’s second in command. Person you go to when something goes wrong and you don’t want to get fired over it.”

“But I thought that was—” The video cuts Roxas off.

_“And,” Demyx narrates._

_Cut to Zexion behind the register and Xaldin in front._

_“I’m sorry, sir. Your Hot Cash is expired.” Zexion does not seem the least bit sorry._

_“Okay, no problem.” Xaldin does not seem the least bit concerned._

_Back to Demyx and the leering pirate. “However, not all of our customers are quite so delightful,” Demyx narrates, sadly._

_“Some of them seem to have had the life and joy sucked straight out of ‘em,” Xigbar continues, cheerily._

_“We call these customers…” prompts Demyx._

_“Heartless,” both announce and it’s back to the black screen with the flames and the word appearing in typical Hot Topic font. This fades back to Demyx and Xigbar._

_“The Heartless are the customers that make you want to quit,” explains Demyx._

_“Or punch a wall,” Xigbar interjects._

_“Or roll up in a corner and cry while clutching a teddy bear and a box of Twinkies.”_

_Xigbar starts, turns. The camera zooms in. Roxas isn’t sure if Axel is an asshole or a comic genius. Xigbar’s hand falls onto Demyx’s upper arm, tone low, “Demy, baby,…you, okay?”_

_Demyx’s eyes widen, deer-like, and he attempts a smile. “...Fine.”_

_“Demy…” Xigbar growls and yanks him off screen._

_“For example,” Axel’s voice cuts in to keep the ball rolling._

_Cut to a tall, blonde woman with a pixie cut looming over the cashier. She’s dressed in a lacy black bandeau, distressed, pale denim shorts, and red heels that could stab a man._

Roxas immediately recognizes her from the staff meeting. “Larxene.”

_“I demand to speak to your manager, you good for nothing spoon,” she growls at one employee._

_“My Hot Cash doesn’t expire until I say it expires!” she hollers at the next._

_“I’m going to call your management and see to it that you’re fired,” she hisses to the third._

_“Okay.” The final cashier, a tall, lanky blonde man with hair spiked up like Roxas’ merely blinks. “So, did you want your receipt or not?_

Roxas finds himself cackling again. “How long did they spend making this?”

“They had one afternoon while Saïx was at a conference.”

_The camera finds Demyx and Xigbar again in a different part of the store. Demyx’s grin is all dimples and sunshine, and Xigbar has Demyx’s sunglasses tucked into the white tee under his leather jacket._

_“But do not fear the Heartless, new staff member!” Demyx cheers. “For every Heartless you face down, Luxord will give you a point in his secret mission report notebook. Whoever has the shittiest month gets a prize!”_

_“Uh, I think he keeps them on his iPhone, Dem,” Xigbar corrects, not rudely. Another bark of laughter from Axel._

_“Shh,” Demyx whispers in Xigbar’s ear, tugging at his collar, super unnecessarily. “That’s way lamer.”_

_“Tell them what happens if they win, Lucky,” Xigbar says, gesturing to the side, obviously trying to distract Demyx._

_It works. Demyx rushes off camera to haul Luxord onto the screen. “Yeah! What can we win, Lucky?”_

_Luxord seems cool and collected even as he’s bodily dragged forward. He stops centerstage, when Demyx releases him, brushing himself off. “Each month, everyone who wants in contributes cash, candy, or assorted other worthy prizes.” He stares down the camera with cool blue eyes, as if in personal challenge. “Winner takes it all. Fortune favors the bold.”_

Roxas is pretty sure Luxord just quoted _Mamma Mia._

_“It’s a surprise!” Demyx gushes, clinging to the biker looking guy’s sleeve._

_“I need a fucking tranquilizer for you, kid,” Xigbar mumbles fondly, mussing Demyx’s pompadour mohawk, and earning a playful tackle in response._

_“And we cut there,” Axel announces. “Nobody needs to see that.”_

_The screen goes black. The fire and rock music start up again and the names of everyone in the video flash on-screen briefly all at once and just as abruptly disappear._

_The video blinks off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your comments! They’re all delightful.
> 
> This chapter is longer than most of them because I got carried away, and probably not as funny as I think it is.
> 
> Should I tag every single couple in the tags or just the main couples? What do most people do?


	20. The Second Sexiest Man Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel, Saïx

Saïx spends an extra fifteen minutes in front of the mirror primping for his hot date with the sexiest man alive.

Axel tries not to bitch about it, though his hair will suffer the consequences. He knows Saïx is sensitive about his appearance, knows Saïx’s boss is drop dead gorgeous, and above all, knows that the business meeting is an important one, with store managers from a dozen locations ferrying to the central island office where Xemnas works for a morning of planning, discussion, and projections, and an afternoon of community building (read schmoozing and margaritas on the beach).

But it’s easy to forget when your boyfriend is getting all dolled up for another man, especially when he would pitch an absolute fit if you did the same. Of course, Axel’s bosses are Marluxia who wouldn’t look twice at him if he were wearing Armani, and Xigbar, who wouldn’t stop looking at him if he were wearing a potato sack.  

So, Axel puts on the gold jeans. The ones Saïx hates because they always get Axel hit on, but can’t complain about because Saïx bought them for him in the first place.

The ones that prove that he does _not_ have a closet like a slutty noir film, thank you very much. Maybe he will call them his Fuck You, Zexion pants. That has a nice ring to it.

Tucking a stray blue strand behind Saïx’s ear, Axel reassures his boyfriend that he looks great. Better than great. Second sexiest man alive. He gets a smack in the chest for that one, though he can see the flicker of a wry smile as Saïx retreats to the kitchen for his caffeine fix.

Seated side by side at the kitchen counter, Saïx reminds Axel that Xaldin won’t be in because it’s his and Lexeaus’ zillionth anniversary, and makes Axel repeat his promise to check in on the store and skim the surveillance feed to ensure Vanitas hasn’t done anything unseemly. Robbery, vandalism, telling off customers, they wouldn’t put much past the kid at this point.

“Would you fire him if he did?” Axel gestures with a spoon. He isn’t arguing so much as genuinely curious.

“I don’t know.”  Saïx sighs, steam rising from his mug to cloud his face. “Xemnas had hoped I could keep him in line. My position may be in jeopardy if I fail him.”

“Wish I could say I don’t think he’d do that.” Axel’s hand skims Saïx’s shoulder in comfort, and Saïx exhales more slowly. When he straightens, it’s with resolve, confidence. He settles his free hand on Axel’s thigh.  

“All the same, I need to know what that demon child is up to.” Saïx’s chin tilts up, pale blue eyes teasing. “And I don’t want him bullying poor Roxas.”

Axel’s smile is all teeth and no feeling, the lingering vestiges of their argument stinging at the back of his throat. “I’ve got it covered, Sai. I’m more than just a pretty face.”

“Believe me,” Saïx murmurs, and Axel suspects it is not his sparkling personality or wit, but other pretty things, that Saïx is thinking about as he trails his hand further up Axel’s thigh, appearing to savor the cool, smooth, metallic denim against his fingertips. “I’m painfully aware.”

Axel captures the hand toying with his belt loop before his mind goes too foggy for him to finish his cereal, and pins it down on his knee. A satisfied smile slips out around his spoon. 

Saïx leans in and presses lips to the corner of Axel’s mouth. His breath smells like coffee grinds and his hair like lavender. “Thank you, by the way.”

Axel removes the spoon from his mouth and returns the favor.  He does not smell like coffee and lavender, but fuck it. Saïx has never minded. “Good luck today, baby.”


	21. Future Brother-in-Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xigbar, Axel, Saïx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more drama than usual? My bad...

There’s nothing Xigbar wouldn’t do for his cousin, Saïx, and his punk ass, pretty boy boyfriend, but sometimes they test his limits.

Thursday, and Axel texts him at five o’fuck in the morning with a ‘pick me up and take me to work.’ No explanation. No please. No heart emojis. Not shit.

And it’s _Thursday_ , so there’re no appointments booked, so it’s not even like it’s work that’ll help Xigbar keep the lights on. It’s Axel’s stupid side gig at the mall that he got so Xigbar’s cousin and Axel could keep tabs on each other. Which come to think had probably set Saïx’s therapy sessions back several years. Yeah, better not to think about that at all.

Pulling up to their place, Xigbar dials—speed dial, and Axel must just be loafing in the AC waiting for him, because he picks up damn near instantly.

“Get your ass out here,” Xigbar barks, heat prickling under his collar, and he must sound as grumpy and half asleep as he feels because laughter answers him. Maybe this is why Axel and Saïx call him “Gramps” when Xigbar’s only got a few years on them. Xigbar clicks off the phone before the snarky retorts come in and rolls down his window.

After a few flicks of the butt of Xigbar’s cigarette against the ashtray, Saïx and Axel step onto the porch of their modest condo and into the warm morning air and aren’t they a pretty picture? Towers of muscle, crowned with take no shit attitudes, the light settling in their hair to highlight sky blue and sunset red, clutching at each other’s arms in damning insecurity.   

With a final salute of his water bottle to Saïx, Axel sets off down the stone path of their condo, past a pair of paopu trees, out to the curb.

Axel’s metallic gold jeans catch the light and damn near blind half the cul-de-sac.

 _Jesus._ As if the guy doesn’t stand out enough already. Saïx must have done something to _really_ piss him off this morning, for him to put on something so attention grabbing.

But hey, Xigbar can help with that. Leaning an arm out the window, he smirks, wolf whistles, growls out, “ _There’s_ my sexy-ass future brother-in-law.”

Axel beams back, smug, and tries hard not to look over his shoulder. Is not successful.

Xigbar doesn’t bother. He knows his cousin, practically his brother, and of _course_ Saïx is glaring daggers, fists clenched, jaw stiff. Nobody particularly _wants_ to see a brawny, badass biker/tattoo artist hitting on their boyfriend. That’s pretty much the point.  

Xigbar curls a finger toward Axel before he can climb in the passenger seat. “Travel tax.”

Axel rolls his eyes as he saunters up, but he leans in, letting Xigbar kiss his cheek, his fingertips brushing lightly against the redhead’s sharp jaw.

“Missed you too, boss,” Axel teases, meeting his eye, and then straightening up.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since they’ve last seen each other.  

“Don’t gimme that ‘boss’ shit,” Xigbar counters, knuckles colliding with Axel’s bony shoulder, “it’s supposed to be my day off, and here I am carting your ass around like we’re friends or something.”

_Boy’s damn lucky I’ve got a soft spot for him._

Axel grins. He knows he’s Xigbar’s closest friend by a mile. Even if Demyx insists otherwise. There are more fun words for what he’s got going on with Demyx.

“Yeah, well, car’s in the shop again, and his highness over there has a meeting with the sexiest man alive.” Axel waves off over his shoulder.

“I heard that,” Saïx teases, probably from the porch swing, probably pausing to appease his phone.

Xigbar freezes, processing this, rubbing at his forehead with a palm. “Axel, for God’s sake buy a new fucking…”

Xigbar cuts himself off, wonders if Axel can even afford it. Definitely could if he worked at Never, their boardwalk tattoo and piercing parlor, full time. But, of course, he isn’t _allowed._ Saïx doesn’t want him to spend all his time with Xigbar, and Axel doesn’t want Saïx to have to go all week without him.

Totally fucking normal shit. Obviously.

Saïx has probably spontaneously combusted by this point. Xigbar likes to remind him what he’s got to lose. If he doesn’t start treating Axel right, somebody else is gonna do it. Hell, if Saïx weren’t his cousin, maybe Xigbar would do it.

See, Saïx’s discomfort is not altogether unprecedented.

Once upon a time, Xigbar didn’t think anyone could look at a man who’d had his face carved up like a _Friday the Thirteenth_ movie and see anything but the scar—the threat.

Once upon a time, a motorcycle accident left Xigbar with three casts, seven stitches across his cheek, and an eyepatch to boot, and he’d said the fuck good bye to the idea of a relationship.

His cousin had flown in to help get him back on his feet. The pair of them had always been close, grew up on the same street, dealing with bastard fathers and empty fridges. When shit had gone south with Saïx’s father, he moved in to Xigbar’s house. The young men bonded over a mutual love of kickboxing in high school and, after graduation, when the secrets started spilling, a mutual love of men.

They began to go their separate ways when Xigbar dropped out of his art program and Saïx started getting serious about his classes and counseling. Then Saïx had stayed in Hollow Bastion for work and Xigbar had moved to get away from “work.”

Ridiculous that it was a motorcycle accident that got him and not his previous occupation—security at a bar where shit got shadier with every passing day. Xigbar’s boyfriend hadn’t even believed him when he messaged him what happened. That had been it for them, really.

The accident brought Saïx and Xigbar back together. Somehow, between helping Xigbar deal with torn muscles in his legs that left him with a permanent swagger, and stitches in his face that made it hard to chew, Saïx found time to let the island sun soak into his skin and mellow his thoughts and moods. He called his boyfriend often and, hearing the smile in his voice, the guy agreed that a move to the islands might be exactly the fresh start they needed.  

Then Saïx had brought home Axel. Axel, their childhood friend, who not only accepted Saïx’s scars (and the hefty stick up his ass), but saw the beauty and good humor beyond them. And at a time when everyone else backed up two steps at the sight of Xigbar, Ax’d run at him with open arms, a cocky smile, and a _Chicks dig scars, y’know._

So, shitty human being that he was, after Saïx had gone to all the trouble of nursing him back to health, Xigbar had fallen for his cousin’s boyfriend _hard._

Cheesy as fuck, hell yeah, but Axel had given Xigbar hope. He hadn’t thought it was possible for either of ‘em to find somebody, scarred as they were, inside, outside. Let alone someone stunning, strong, intelligent…

‘Course, it had also made him fucking jealous. Because he and Axel got on like fire and paper, and if Xigbar _had met him first…_

Well, Xigbar had his vices, but he wouldn’t flip a shit every time Axel smiled at a waiter the wrong way. Hell, if Demyx hadn’t stumbled his way into the picture, Xigbar’s not sure what he’d’ve done.

Presently, Xigbar unlocks the passenger side of his ancient convertible, and as Axel makes his way over, Xigbar salutes his cousin, who, miraculously, remains in one piece.

“Mornin’, Sai.”

But Saïx is blood, his cousin and his friend, and losing Axel would wreck him, pure and simple. And after the hell that was their childhood, Saïx deserves to be happy now. Just, not at Axel’s expense, right.

So Xigbar flirts relentlessly. Treats Axel like a fucking princess. And Saïx is perfectly aware of his crush, less convinced than Axel is that it ended when Demyx came into the picture. (Though it more or less had, except in off moments like these when Axel shines like a fucking sun.)

But thanks to Demyx, Saïx has no grounds to bitch at him for it. And thanks to the tattoo parlor, Saïx can’t fire him for it. So Xigbar takes a certain pride in getting away with everything, shitty human being that he is.

“Morning.” Saïx’s response is cold, brief, detached. Narrowed blue eyes command him to keep his hands to himself. Not ideal, but better than explosive, Xigbar supposes.

Realizing this is all the conversation he’ll get from the man at this point, Xigbar rolls up his window and pulls lazily away from the curb.

“He let you leave the house in that, huh?” Xigbar’s eye skims the golden denim hugging at Axel’s muscles a final time as they roll out and a knowing smirk lights his lips. “That’s progress.”

“Oh?” Axel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is it?”

Xigbar cringes at the unexpected dose of bitterness. He glances over, seeing the man has strapped himself in, crossed his arms, and dedicated himself to staring out the opposite side window, probably watching Saïx climbing into his sensible, sleek black sedan, off to metaphorically whore himself out to corporate executives.

“No,” Xigbar sobers, reaching across the narrow space to squeeze Axel’s shoulder. “Sorry, snookums. Guess not.”

“One of these days, though,” fingers comb through burnt red hair, jade eyes painfully hopeful, “right?”

Xigbar can’t meet Axel’s gaze for longer than a second. “He loves you, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Xigbar in this fic is a much less terrible human being than Braig in my other fic. 
> 
> -Xigbar calls Axel his future "brother-in-law" even though he and Saïx are just cousins because he and Saïx are so close.


	22. The Sixth Member of One Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xigbar, Axel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Coffee-teasing: Brief, explicit mentions of coffee, no actual coffee consumption

“Care to make a pit stop?” Xigbar tilts his head toward the local coffee place, brain feeling sluggish with the early hour.   

Axel turns his head sharply from the passing sun, surf, and sand, their scent strong in the old, open convertible, following Xigbar's gesture with a frown. “You’ve been spending too much time with Demyx.”

“Eh, maybe so.” Xigbar lifts a shoulder, contemplating his growing fondness for increasingly difficult to pronounce caffeinated beverages. Definitely the Energizer Bunny incarnate that is Demyx’s doing.

“We don’t have time to frighten the baristas this morning, man.”

Xigbar tends to have that effect on people. His brawny build alone would probably do it. Add to that the eye patch, the messy scar splitting one cheek diagonally, the black ink lacing his upper body, the small gold hoops stinging the helix of one ear, and you get some unwanted comments.

‘B-list movie villain’ is his current favorite. At the beach, he and Axel have been mistaken for off-set _Pirates of the Caribbean_ extras more than once.

“Rain check?” Axel proposes, smoothing back spikes of red, untamed this morning and loosened by the wind, tugging softly at them through the slow flow of the traffic. He seems to have taken the lack of response as irritation.

The concept of ‘no coffee’ starts to sink in and the real irritation rises, as Xigbar maneuvers back out of his turn lane. “Ain’t you always telling me that Marly don’t give a damn when you come in? Or _if_ you come in?”

God knows Marly only gave Axel the job to humor his good buddy Saïx, and prefers Axel make himself scarce when not needed so as not to scare off the clientele. ‘Course, fact that Axel actually knows what he’s doing can’t have escaped his notice by this point. Marluxia probably lets him get away with shit so he won’t up and quit next time Axel and Saïx break up again.

Axel smirks. “Trust me, he doesn’t.” The smile falters, eyes returning to the road, ensuring Xigbar doesn’t try and pull another extraneous detour. “I just need to make sure Vanitas hasn’t broken Roxas yet.”

Xigbar groans, flicking on the radio. “So help me God, if I hear one more fucking word about Roxas…”

News casters prattle too fast and low to understand.

Manicured red brows pinch closer together. Axel shifts the station to something louder with a steady beat and an irritating electric guitar, its words no less distinguishable at the low volume. “What do you know about Roxas?”

“ _Everything_ ,” Xigbar grumbles and his hand spreads across the dash. “The fuck did I just say?”

Axel offers an indifferent shrug, and Xigbar realizes Axel has no way of knowing what Xigbar’s _been through_ in the past twenty-four hours.

Xigbar picks up a more neutral tone as he shifts to a halt at another red light, and the wind combs calmingly through the strands of his ponytail. “Demyx comes over, right? And, you know Demyx tells me everything. ‘Shut up and kiss me’ is not in the guy’s vocabulary. Whatever’s on his mind comes right out his mouth. He watches a documentary on _Animal Planet_ , and now I know more about seahorses getting it on than the Good Lord ever intended.

“And yesterday it was Roxas, Roxas, _Roxas._ ” Xigbar tilts his head back and forth in emphasis, his voice picking up a higher register in mimicry of his lover, the tenor, “Roxas could be the sixth member of One Direction. Roxas is cuter than a baby kitten. Roxas has the voice of a siren and is sweet as a slice of strawberry shortcake with cream. And if Demyx doesn’t get him to join The Organization, he’ll just die.” His cutesy Demyx voice falls off abruptly, as Axel reigns in snorts of laughter. “Do you get me?”

“No, not yet,” Axel replies, straight-faced again, “please, keep going. I’m sure you missed some lines about the glitter of Roxas’ smile.”

“Okay, first of all,” Xigbar ticks off on a particular finger, “fuck you, I will leave you on the side of the road.” Xigbar gives a pointed stare until Axel’s shoulders’ slump sheepishly into the leather seat, and he shuts it.

“Second, just take care of it, alright?” Another finger flicks up and motions between Axel and the radio. “I mean, be careful, obviously, not like Sai needs any real ammunition, but…”

Axel has that tone like he doesn’t like Xigbar’s. “I’m sorry?”  

Xigbar doesn’t respond for a long minute, as he gets a lane over to avoid an oncoming shock of blue and red lights. “Get little Roxy in the band,” he repeats slower and yet less patient, “so I don’t have to hear Dem bitch about it anymore.”

Demyx’d be on cloud nine, and Xigbar does everything he can to be on the receiving end of _that_ mood as often as he can. Probably spoiling the kid. Well. _Definitely_ spoiling the kid, but, hey…   

“Sounds like Dem has that covered,” Axel responds, brows rising in silent query.  

Xigbar leans an arm on the window ledge and scowls. _Boy can be kind of dense sometimes._ “Yeah, but if _you_ ask, it’s a done deal.”

“Why if I ask?” He’s done fantasizing out the window now, eyes narrowing in that razor-edged way that reminds Xigbar how exactly Axel deals with Saïx day in and day out.  

Xigbar snorts. “What, Sai take all the mirrors out of your house?” His head shakes. He sneers a bit. “As if you don’t know.”

“Saïx would sooner live without water.” Axel’s lip curls upward. “And I _don’t_ know.”

“Huh.” Xigbar watches his expression for a second, waiting for a telling twitch, and finding it, turning eyes back to the road, tone only lightly mocking, “ _Right,_ okay, my bad.”

Axel scoffs, a light puff of air. “Roxas isn’t going to say yes to whatever I ask just because I’m wearing sexy pants, Xig.”

Xigbar’s brows go up and stay there, fingers tapping at the edge of the steering wheel. “Then he’s a stronger man than the rest of us.”

Axel presses fingertips to Xigbar’s cheek and turns his head back to the road. “Just drive, Xigbar.”

Demyx had said something was up with Axel and Roxas, and this reaction makes Xigbar wonder if his sometimes clueless boy toy isn’t on to something.

“Huh.” Xigbar mumbles, tongue poking toward the fingertips still holding his jaw in place. 

The hand yanks back but the word slices the air rushing past them. “ _Drive_.”

“Sure, baby,” Xigbar soothes, dragging out another slow, gleaming grin that would make Saïx want to pop him in the jaw. His tongue curls in recoil at the thought. “Anything you want.”   

Axel’s arms cross indignantly at that, but Axel smirks back anyway.


	23. Something Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Axel, Vanitas

“Find something pretty for me, Roxas?”

Roxas recognizes the voice instantly, which would be less embarrassing if the sound of it didn’t resonate in his ear like a musician hitting a note just right, or if it didn’t turn his stomach into something like grape jelly.

Kneeling on the floor of Hot Topic, Roxas sits beside an open plastic display case of piercings, intimately acquainting himself with products he’s never given a second glance before, as he tries to remember Aqua’s instructions on what goes next to or in front of what, and on which display.

Which is to say that he does not remember.

She had promised to answer any questions he had, and then promptly left on her fifteen-minute break.

Despite the excitement with Vanitas, it’s still pretty early in the morning, and with his fatigue catching up, it takes Roxas a moment to cobble together his five-star response. “Axel, hey.”

Setting a short stack of neon colored plastic balls on metal rings back in the box, and internally telling his stomach to chill the fuck out already, Roxas glances up.

It is a huge mistake. His eyes have to climb a pair of metallic gold jeans, hugging calf and thigh muscles, before they can skim the hard lines beneath a black V-neck, pass over pale, sun freckled skin, and settle on the shock of loose, unstyled red spikes and amused green eyes.

So, he didn’t sleep off that crush thing, like, at all, then.   

“Putting out some new ear thing-a-ma-jigs,” Roxas explains, lifting one to get the jade gaze off of him before something in his chest decides to implode.

“Well…” Axel leans forward, the metallic denim flashing in Roxas’ peripheral. “Actually.”

Roxas is pretty sure no one has a right to look that damn good in a pair of pants. You know, legally speaking.

Axel tilts the piercing in Roxas’ hand toward him with his fingertips. “That’s a tongue thing-a-ma-jig,” he smirks lightly, “but I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

Roxas fights with a smirk of his own. “Shut up, I’ve had a rough morning.” He can’t resist sticking out his own tongue. _Does Axel have to be good at everything?_ “Know-it-all.”

Axel’s smile brightens. He must bleach it. “It’s literally my only job.”

Roxas laughs and returns to rooting through the box, pulling out another slip of cardboard and plastic that had caught his eye earlier and setting it in Axel’s palm. “There.”

“Yes, good. Plugs _,_ ” Axel teases as he flutters the package in front of Roxas’ eyes. “ _These_ are for ears.”

“No, I mean,” Roxas’ brow furrows, and he turns his attention back to the box, “ah, fuck it.”

But Axel doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. “Mean what, Roxas?” his needling lilt would be grating, Roxas decides, if it didn’t seem to serve as a thin paper wrapping actual concern.

“I thought you’d…” Roxas looks up, you know, like an idiot, and gets stuck again on curious green eyes, until the next words come out more a mumble, “maybe like those.”  

“Oh.” Axel leans back on his heels, twisting the packaging between his fingers and drawing it up to examine. “Shit. Yeah?”

Roxas rubs at the checkered cuff along his wrist, offers a half smile. The plugs were black, like Axel’s own, with a mandala cut out revealing a whirl of purple, green, and pale yellow. “They’re little stained-glass windows.”

Axel runs his thumb across the plastic. “How about that?” he muses softly, scarlet brows rising.

“It’s dumb.” Roxas’ face feels stretched, sunburnt, his thumb fumbles at the joint of his glasses. “I just liked them, and I thought—”

“I’ve always liked stained glass windows.”

Roxas shuts his eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

“Nah,” Axel waves off Roxas’ second-guessing. “I’ve never seen anything like these, and I’ve seen a million of ‘em.”

“Yeah?” Roxas shifts purposelessly through the befuddling contents of the box, unwilling to look up in case his flush has burnt through the golden tan the islands gift him when he’s home too long.

“Yeah.” A toe prods at Roxas’ side until Roxas swipes at Axel’s boot, grinning up at him in spite of himself. “Thank you, Roxas.”            

Chastising himself as he realizes his temperature rises ten degrees every time Axel drops the hard R in his name, Roxas returns to his work, nods. One shoulder lifts. “Sure.”

In his peripheral, another mirage-like shimmer of gold as Axel leans forward like he’s got something clever to say, and then decides against it. “Hey, if you’re doing okay, I gotta,” Axel fingers the silver hoops lining his helix and winces, “go be responsible.”

“Oh,” Roxas blurts, before he can stop himself. “Right, yeah.” He shrugs. Fistfuls of piercings occupy both hands, and a couple drift to the floor. “Do that.”  

“Don’t miss me too much.” Axel chuckles. “I’ll be right back.”

Roxas’ shoulder lifts again and he misses the frown he earns in response.

Axel takes a few steps forward, pauses, doubles back.

“You know.” Axel halts, just a step past the blonde on the floor now, facing the opposite direction. Nostalgia thickens his voice, as he raises the plugs to eye level again. “When I was younger my grandma used to drag me to church every once in a while, trying to save my little heathen soul.”

Confused but intrigued, Roxas stills, cringes a bit.

“And Grandma wasn’t fucking around…”

Roxas snorts and sees a grin pull at Axel’s lip as the redhead turns to bear witness to the sound.

“…Went to this big-ass Gothic cathedral in the heart of Radiant Garden.”

Roxas lifts his chin to see Axel’s sweeping gesture, up and toward the ceiling, as if his spindly fingers could paint pillars in the aisles of Hot Topic.

“And that was a brand-new word for me _. Soul._ That’s how hedonistic _my_ parents were.” Axel’s fingers swish fondly, and Roxas has a sudden desire to know what kind of people had resulted in _this_.

“And I was a literal sort of kid, so sitting in that rock-hard pew, staring up, I kinda always figured souls must look something like those huge stained-glass windows, y’know? Mosaics of color and light, pictures of people and things that really mattered…Sometimes beautiful, sometimes all clouded up, sometimes blinding.”

Roxas’ throat dries. He can almost see them himself, a million kaleidoscopic crystals of light weaving together.

Words seem insufficient—unnecessary. He nods.

Axel looks a bit sheepish, unleashing words Roxas gets a sense he’s never said before. Rubbing at his shoulder, the underside of each forearm reveals a tattoo, black V’s blossoming into single, fully colored tongues of flame pausing a few inches before wrist and elbow. Roxas imagines Axel’s window might look like that. Sharp scarlet, electric orange, soft yellow: fiery, expressive, bright, and just a little dangerous.  

“I used to try and draw them,” Axel admits, “way back when, but I could never quite…” he grasps at the air like he’s trying to catch fog, the black leather cords around his wrist slipping down. He matches his eyes to Roxas’ again, but once more the words don’t come. Axel shakes off the memory. It seems to evaporate from his expression like smoke from a shaken match and the wry smile returns, as he turns away. “Anyway,” Axel says. “Bet yours would be pretty, all that gold in the sunshine.”  

With this final swordthrust through Roxas’ crushing heart, Axel picks his way around Roxas’ set up and saunters toward the back room where Vanitas is hiding out, blue eyes trailing after him.

“Yours too,” Roxas murmurs lamely, but if Axel hears him, he doesn’t react.

*          *

Axel wonders dimly what it is about Roxas that makes him feel guilty every time he leaves his side. Thoughts of crumbling white pillars and an ocean blue window with sand golden ridges spiral in Axel’s head as he pockets the plugs he’ll buy later and shifts the door marked ‘Staff Only’ open, offering it his usual grin for the sake of irony.

Axel finds Vanitas sitting at the desk in the back, beside a computer and a set of security monitors. He has his chin resting on his arms, his headphones hugging his neck and his eyes straight on Roxas in a security frame. He’s watching Axel’s new friend layering packages of piercings on a display shelf, a step off from where Axel had just been standing himself. In other words, playing I Spy: Hot Topic Edition.

And yeah, sure, Roxas is pretty fucking adorable, but that’s not exactly an excuse.

“Slacking off again, V?” Axel teases. He can feel the teeth behind his words, sharper than the ones he jabs at Demyx’s lazy bones.

Only a flicker of Vanitas’ eyes acknowledge Axel’s presence.

“Overcompensating again, Ax?”

Axel wonders if Vanitas is referring to the silent conversation he’d been snooping on, or Axel’s metallic gold pants.

_Probably the pants._

Axel can feel his mouth drop into a scowl before his lazy smirk reasserts its dominance. “No need,” he purrs, pocketing his hands and striding right up behind the prickly douchebag. “Break’s over. Out.”

Vanitas is not one to hide his scowls. “Technically, I have more right to be back here than you do.” He relinquishes the chair anyway.

Axel sinks into black pleather, spinning around to face the monitor, fatigued at the prospect of fast-forwarding through hour long segments of Hot Topic employees unloading boxes at paces that would put sloths to shame. “Technically, you should have been fired by now.”

Vanitas shrugs.

If Vanitas were smart, he’d leave it at that and get to work. Axel won’t be awarding him a scholarship any time soon. He can feel the shadow lingering just past his shoulder, watching him load the security footage.

“You probably don’t want to watch that,” Vanitas sings, too fucking close to his ear, and Axel snaps the chair back around sharply.

Axel’s assessing glare must chill even Vanitas’ soul, because the guy unconsciously runs knuckles over the glossy blazer buttons above his abdomen and backs off a couple steps.

_“Why?”_

Vanitas regroups, sneering at his informational upperhand, and gestures to the blonde bedhead still shifting around on-screen, trying to reattach a plastic door to the piercing display case that he likely has no idea was already broken to begin with.

“Yeah, okay, _sure_.”

_Roxas is sweeter than a slice of strawberry shortcake with cream,_ Xigbar complains in Axel’s head.

Vanitas flutters a hand over his heart, facial features and voice softening eerily as he tries to feign innocence, “Wouldn’t want anything to come between you and your precious new bestie.” Vanitas chuckles, flipping up a palm in consideration. “I mean, aside from the obvious.”

Axel has too much pride to ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

Scoffing, Axel continues booting up the program on the computer, waving Vanitas in the direction of the salesfloor. “If you’re not going to tell me what you did, get lost.”

If something had happened, Roxas would have said so. Right?   

But as much as Axel wants to believe Vanitas is spouting absolute bullshit, the voice of experience is tying Eagle Scout level knots in his stomach.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Vanitas takes up a fully loaded rack of hanging clothes, (maybe he really _had_ been working?) and rolls it out of the cluttered backroom and onto the floor.

Axel mentally runs through his conversation with Roxas again, chastising himself for oversharing, though Roxas hadn’t seemed to mind, had almost seemed to _get it_ , even.

Nothing weird from Roxas, though, other than the new hipster vibes his thick rimmed glasses and khaki pants had given him. That, and his, frankly tragic, lack of knowledge about tongue piercings.

_Shut up, I’ve had a rough morning._ The Roxas in Axel’s head smirks and parts pouty pink lips to stick out a pretty pink tongue. Axel chides himself for zeroing in on that, but shit.

_Shit._

Axel adjusts the settings on the security program and hesitates only a heartbeat before pressing play.  


	24. Khakis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel, Demyx, Roxas, Vanitas, Saïx

Hot Topic’s morning security feed speeds across the screen, and Axel feels both disappointed and relieved that it’s about as eventful as a commercial for laundry detergent. He begins to suspect Vanitas had been bull shitting him after all, and allows his eyes to wander, his idle, tapping fingers to flip his phone over as a notification from Demyx pops up.

Axel hasn’t spoken to him since their argument the other day, but Demyx is not one to hold a grudge forever, especially when something important crops up.

Axel taps the notification and a video plays—Demyx, dressed in athletic shorts, filming from erratic angles and dancing through the bubbles where the ocean meets the sand. Xigbar’s German Shepherd, Delilah, frolics at his side, splashing bits of water at the lens as Demyx’s giggles intersperse with the dog’s delighted yips.

“Hey there, Delilah,” Axel croons through a grin, thumb skimming the side of the screen. He can almost smell the saltwater and damp fur as something by The Beach Boys desecrates his phone speaker, grainy, as it’s likely—absolutely—playing from Demyx’s.

Chasing the incoming tide, Delilah slips through Demyx’s bare legs, her braided leather leash tangling around Demyx’s ankles as she prances. This unceremoniously knocks him down into the warm bed of sand. Demyx shrieks and laughs as her enormous paws and nose dampen the chest of his cutoff Life is Good tank top.

_Definitely more important than our argument about Saïx._

The video ends abruptly as Demyx fumbles his device, and Axel raises his head, cackling, and almost misses it all.

On the computer screen, Roxas hovers over Vanitas who is sprawled on the ground, arms clutching his gut, a mite melodramatically, in Axel’s opinion—like a dying actor.

 _Wait._ Roxas hovers over _what?_

Axel hits pause and rewind so fast the mouse falls off the table and the keyboard clatters.

The fuck?

*           *

Axel has been told he has a temper. That temper has been described as many things. Fiery. Explosive. Volcanic.  
  
It’s not a quick temper by any means, though he has a reputation for that, too. He tends to let things roll off his shoulders like rain water on bare skin, to deal with them with clever remarks and keep his face artfully unphased.

But seeing Vanitas corner Roxas behind the register, unheard poison rising up from his sneer, Axel feels an unprecedented surge of cold in the pit of his stomach.

Anger, yes, but more than that…  

Like, when Vanitas winds his arm back to take a swing, Axel hates himself for not being there, for not making Xigbar drive a little faster, because he wants nothing more than to step between Roxas and that swing. Axel wants to take the force into his own rib cage and give Vanitas a light shove. Over the counter. Onto his face.

Axel watches Vanitas wind up on Roxas and watches Roxas notice, his dark-lashed baby blues widening, and all Axel _wants_ to be seeing is Vanitas with blood dripping from his nose and pooling on his upper lip, and all Axel feels is cold.

_So, I’m pretty much a fucking psychopath now, I guess._

The cold turns frigid as Roxas catches Vanitas’ punch with all the effort of a child batting down a snowball.

Axel’s jaw dips low a moment after Vanitas’ does and then—holy shit— the dumbass does it again, and Roxas catches it just as easy, no surprise, no amusement, just vague irritation on his face. He could almost be channel surfing, almost be bored.  

Meanwhile, Axel’s stomach seems to have dropped out, leaving just that cold feeling crystalizing.

Axel’s knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the desk. The chill in his torso numbs his legs. He tastes blood in the back of his throat.

Axel can only watch with his jaw half hanging open, as Roxas shoves Vanitas backwards. He hears a snarl rise up in his own throat, his fingernails digging into the underside of the desk, as Vanitas tries to take Roxas to the floor and then—

“Fucking hell.”

A hard, well placed jab and Roxas puts Vanitas on the ground, and straightens, unruffled, innocent looking as ever, like some kind of avenging angel.

Well. If avenging angels wore khakis. Who the fuck takes somebody out wearing hipster glasses and khakis, though? Really?  

Mildly hysteric laughter clogs Axel’s throat and then pours out until he’s got his head hanging back over the desk chair and tears at the corners of his eyes. All the tension in his body ebbs away and he unclenches the desk, spinning away from the screen where the guys are, miraculously, making nice.  

Axel’s pretty sure this security footage is simultaneously the single most badass, most ridiculous, and most sexy thing he has ever seen.

And suddenly Roxas makes sense. It’s like Axel had been missing a piece of his window, had been looking at it upside down, and now he _gets_ it.

Roxas—small, unassuming Roxas with his Renaissance-angel blonde hair and innocent, ocean blue eyes—Roxas, whose entire essence seems to say ‘pick me up and cuddle me’—could probably kill a man while blindfolded using just a stick.

And Vanitas had found out first hand.

_Welp._

_Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy._

What Axel wouldn’t give to know what _that_ conversation had been about.

 _Of course,_ Axel continues to ponder, _if Saïx were to see it they’d both be completely screwed._

Oh. Shit.

Remembering what he’s doing here, Axel heaves a sigh, bites away his smile and keys number 7 in his speed dial. It’s only once the phone’s ringing that he realizes he doesn’t have a clue what to say.

*           *

“Is somebody dead?” Saïx asks upon picking up, in his signature, unamused deadpan. Axel can almost picture him hiding out in a nondescript, gray side hallway not far from Hot Topic’s conference room, standing next to an exotic, plastic plant in a tastefully hideous vase.

Axel knows better than to expect a greeting, especially not today, but he’s almost thrown into another fit of laughter by Saïx’s unexpected remark. “That’s a better guess than you think it is.”

Saïx grunts, words fast and clipped with irritation, “Because in five minutes Xemnas is giving one of his endless, grandiose speeches, and unless somebody is _literally_ dead, I’m going to need you to handle it.”

 _And therein lies the problem._ Axel tosses up an open palm out of habit, “How do you want me t—”

“However you see fit,” Saïx interrupts.

Axel chuckles, for real this time. “Oh, you are going to regret that.”

“Darling,” Saïx says painstakingly slowly, like he’d like to choke him, and is practicing enormous self-restraint, “we’ve been at this a long time. I trust you. Take care of it.”

Possibilities flicker through Axel’s head, none of which Saïx would particularly appreciate, but… “Okay.” Axel shrugs, though, of course, Saïx can’t see it. “Consider it taken care of.”

Saïx sighs in relief, probably. “Thank you.”  
  
Axel glances to Roxas on the frozen security screen again, shaking Vanitas’ hand with about as much trust as one might give a hooded stranger in a dark alley. “Don’t thank me just yet.”

“I’ll be sure to purchase a six-foot shovel on my way home.”

Axel can _hear_ Saïx’s eye roll.

“Bye.”

Saïx has hung up before Axel can reply.

“However I see fit,” Axel mumbles, and then he finds himself grinning.


	25. Cameras Don't Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel, Aqua, Roxas, Vanitas

Axel swaps his gaze from this morning’s Hot Topic security footage on the desktop computer to the current security feed.

On the sales floor, Aqua’s returning from her break, her black ballet flats dragging across linoleum. She pauses by the piercing displays to offer Roxas a bite off her soft pretzel, before ducking behind the register to shove a set of metallic pink keys into a white, studded handbag. Rising, she flicks her middle finger up in response to some stray comment from Vanitas.

Vanitas grins back, sharklike, before he returns to helping their single customer fish a backpack shaped like a Ninja Turtle shell (Leonardo—a subpar choice) from a rack near the ceiling using a large metal hook that Axel frankly does not feel safe knowing Vanitas has access to.

Axel raises the walkie talkie to his lips and taps a button on the side, amused by the way if startles Roxas from his crouch a few feet from the register. Scrambling behind the counter, Roxas pauses to adjust the checkerboard patterned shoe escaping his foot before nabbing the radio from its cradle. Then he straightens, glancing around to ensure no one saw him tripping over himself.

“Hey Roxas,” Axel purrs through a smirk, “this is your conscience speaking.” 

Roxas glances toward the ceiling, processing, and then gives a slow, satisfying smile. “ _Hey, conscience._ ” The words are slow, quiet.

_Is it the radio or is he whispering back?_

“ _It’s been a while._ ” Roxas rubs his eyes and drags weary fingers down to tug at his cheek, hipster glasses slipping slightly down his nose.

At the private moment, Axel opts to tear his eyes from the camera. He ignores the compulsion he feels to tug at Roxas’ cheek himself in the near distant future.

“ _Wish you’d chimed in sooner._ ”   

The security video replays in Axel’s head. Roxas effortlessly taking Vanitas down. The smile slipping from Vanitas’ face replaced with shock and a hint of respect.

“Why,” Axel wheedles, too knowing, maybe, but fuck it, he _does_ know, “didn’t do something you regret, did ya?”

There’s a long pause. Axel peeks at the security feed again. Roxas’ spine seems straighter, though his back’s propped against the counter and his head is down, eyes likely shut. Axel fancies he’s contemplating offering him the truth.

“ _I pushed my brother off a dock yesterday._ ”

 _Well shit._ Axel chokes a bit, then presses the button so Roxas will think it’s radio static.

Not what he’d been expecting, but a hell of a lot more interesting. Almost makes up for Roxas’ lie of omission, though Axel knows it’s smart of Roxas to keep a lid on his little scuffle.

Still, he decides to be diplomatic about it. “Probably not your finest moment, there, Roxas.”

“ _He’s fine. Swims like a merman.”_ Roxas bats a hand dismissively, though he has no idea Axel can see it. “ _He called me chubby, so I had no choice._ ”

Axel hates the tension that mars Roxas’ face, like he might actually be considering this absurd notion. He watches Roxas sliding his shirt up to pinch at a bronze, well-defined abdomen.

Axel snorts, his throat feeling unusually dry, wondering if Roxas’ brother has always had such severe vision problems—realizing Roxas really is that badass. “You serious? I take it back. You made the right call. You’re…”

_Deadass skinny? Ripped? Petite? Angelic? Gorgeous? A ray of fucking sunshine._

“Not.”

Roxas chuckles back, the sound remarkably light and fluid even through the shitty radio. _“You’re not very good at this conscience thing, Axel.”_

“Nah,” Axel rubs at the back of his neck, turning from the screen again, thumbing the crescent moon shaped charm on one of Saïx’s bracelets, forgotten on the desk, “not my strong suit. Speaking of, would you send Aqua on back, my good buddy?” His switch to an insincere, lighter tone does not go unnoticed.

“ _Aqua?_ ” He can hear the surprise and… _that’s not_ hurt _is it?_ … in Roxas’ voice. “ _Uh, sure, yeah, hang on a sec._ ”

“Thanks, babe.”

He watches Roxas go rigid for a second before he sighs, returns the radio to its cradle, and glances around for Aqua like a man who’s been caught half asleep.

Huh.

*           *

“Axel?” Aqua toes her way into the back room, holding the door open, like she hopes she can get this over with quickly. _Cute._ “What is this about?”

“How do I put this delicately?” Axel spins slowly in his chair to face her, like he’s a heavily ringed mob boss smoking a cigar. There should be some kind of cat purring on his lap with a scrunched-up face and a holier than thou stare.

The eyes tracing paths across his face seem wary.

“You’re fired, Aqua.”

“I’m…” Aqua blinks back, almost dropping the remainder of her soft pretzel entirely, one hand going white knuckled against the door frame. “That was not delicate.”

“Eh,” Axel squeezes his knee, Saïx’s bracelet cool where he’s slipped it onto his wrist, “yeah, sorry.”

She tilts her head, examining his expression, her dark blue brows lowering. “You’re joking.”

“Yeah, fuck. I can’t even keep a straight face.” Axel cackles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Gonna need more practice if I’m going to lay it on Vanitas, huh?” He begins to rotate the desk chair away from her again to check on the brat, but Aqua darts forward, grabs the chair arm to whirl him back.

“Wait. _What?_ ”

“Vanitas,” Axel repeats, his eyes narrowing, wondering where the confusion is coming from, how she didn’t see this coming. “Vanitas is fired.”

“You’re…you can’t…!” Aqua grasps at the air, stammers, volume rising. This time Axel doesn’t smile.

_Christ. This had better work._

Realization flashes in her eyes. She retreats to the door and shuts it. As she returns to Axel’s side at the office desk, she raises her pretzel to take a contemplative bite. “You saw the tape, then.”

Axel nods, jerking a thumb back to the computer. “You know, when Saïx asked me to check in on you hooligans, I figured I’d catch you, like, dancing in the aisles and eating all the SweeTarts and tell him I didn’t see anything. But instead I find Roxas and Vanitas making like a pair of Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots. That’s a bit harder to ignore.”

She blanches, charcoal-lined lip jutting out to reveal pink. “You’re telling me that fight was _Vanitas’_ fault?”

He opens his palm toward the computer again, can feel his own frown lines deepen. “Cameras don’t lie.”

“Shit.” She sweeps pointed, glossy black, manicured nails through blue bangs, “I had a feeling, but I really hoped—”

“Exactly!” Axel interrupts, hands clapping together, and she scowls at his enthusiasm, which makes him feel a little like his mother never loved him. “You’re the only one working in this godforsaken store that gives a damn whether or not Vanitas gets fired. And that is, of course, including Vanitas.”

His eyes stray to the nearby wall of employee lockers. Most of their surfaces have been layered with friendly post-its, graffiti, and stickers, but Vanitas’ stands blanker than even Saïx’s is.

“That’s...” her voice fades, following his gaze, fingers sweeping down through her bob, “probably true.”

Axel shrugs, tone amenable, “I mean, to some degree, I get it. He’s your housemate,” he offers with one hand, “you need rich Uncle Xemnas to pay his rent,” he continues with the other. “I guess I wouldn’t want him fired either.”

Aqua rolls her eyes, and then waggles her pretzel at him. “It’s not all about the money, Axel. He’s my _friend_. I don’t want to see him _give up_ again. He needs to work through this.”

Axel’s definitely not going to let her elaborate on this tragic backstory business she’s trying to dredge up. Vanitas has always been a dick, and now he’s a dick who almost punched Roxas. End of story.  

But Axel nods so she’ll stop talking to him like he just told Demyx Santa’s not real. “Fine, whatever. I can work with that.”

“What do you mean ‘ _work_ with that’?” She lowers the pretzel a bit, her other hand resting on her hip as she tilts her head to reevaluate the lanky red-head, stretching his legs out straight and crossing his ankles. “Axel…I don’t understand. If you’ve made up your mind, you’ve watched the tape, why call me back here all?”

Axel folds his hands in his lap and the sun and moon charms on Saïx’s bracelet slide together. “A lot of people pretend they like Vanitas. You, Luxord, Demyx…um.” He pauses, closes his eyes, mentally running through a list of employees. “Okay, ‘a lot’ was an exaggeration.”

His eyes flick open. “Point is: I wanted to make sure you really meant it, because as much as it pains me to say it, I can’t fire his ass. And if _you_ don’t want him fired, then whatever you saw, you need to unsee it.” He draws a couple fingers to his temple and offers a mocking smile. “Got that memorized?”

She stares for a second, processing, and Axel, figuring he better speed things along, spins back around to face the computer, minimizing the security feed and pulling open a folder he’s stumbled upon previously, labeled Employee Records. He’s prompted to enter a password. Delightful.

The pretzel slaps into Axel’s shoulder and salt sprinkles down the front of his black tee. “Why?” Aqua says in a voice like he’d missed the first time she said it. “Because you’re afraid of what Xemnas will do to Saïx? But you have video evidence. Even Xemnas can’t ignore that.”

Aqua’s such a martyr she’s telling him he _should_ fire Vanitas? Sweet Jesus.

“Because.” Axel’s teeth dig into his lower lip, more sharply than intended, as he keys in a third attempt at the password—two Hot Topic favorites and one of Saïx’s regulars. The program locks him out for twenty minutes. Delightful. “Because Vanitas isn’t the only one Saïx would fire.”

“You think he’d fire _us_?” Aqua steps back as he swerves in his chair and rises, abruptly several inches above her rather than several feet below.

He half scoff-half sneers, sidestepping her, approaching Saïx’s pristine filing cabinet, squatting between the desk and lockers. “No, sweetie.”

He tugs at the third drawer, and she follows him over, obviously about to make a fuss, so he continues, brows furrowing at the neat little lock in his way, “I think he’d fire Roxas. He’d have to, to get Xemnas off his back.”

He whirls back around and locks eyes with her. Hers go wide, lip dipping again.

“No shit?” she mumbles, through the stare down.

“Roxas was only defending himself, but Xemnas wouldn’t see it that way.” He turns, pulling out painstakingly neat desk drawers, flipping up organizers and rifling through paperclips in search of a small silver key, though he already knows in his chest, Saïx would never leave it lying around. “Roxas doesn’t deserve that shit.”

“So?” Out of the corner of his eye he sees her gesture for him to continue.

He slides a sticker gun back in the drawer and seats himself on the desk to face her. “ _So?_ ” he mimics, expression too innocent to be genuine.

“What do you care what happens to Roxas?”

“He’s…” Axel finds himself gesturing vaguely, “a good guy.”

“That’s it?”  

“I…” Axel searches his head for a better explanation. But that’s it. He likes Roxas. Roxas is good. Roxas didn’t do anything wrong. He wants to protect Roxas. “Yeah. That’s it.”

She looks skeptical as Axel starts in half-heartedly on another desk drawer.

“And?”

His hand pauses. “And nothing.”  

Her eyes roll again, revealing flashes of silver shadow and he’s going to have to ask her where she bought it some time. “Fine. Keep your secrets. So, that’s all you want from me. Pretend like it never happened, try to convince Vanitas to do the same?”

“And one more thing.” He pulls a black sticky note pad and a silver permanent marker from the desktop and holds them out. “Insurance this won’t happen again. I tried to find it myself, but uh, I don’t actually work here.”

“Axel, _no_ ,” her voice wavers, alarmed, tired. “We’ve been over this.”

Axel reaches across the keyboard he’s perched beside to the mouse and opens up the security video, rewinds, plays.  “Let’s go back to the tapes, shall we?”

*          *

Aqua’s marker jolts mid apartment number as she watches Vanitas lunge for Roxas’ middle and get sucker punched. She remains silent the remainder of the scene and then hands Axel a slip of paper, folded in half, and turns away.

He peeks at the address, giggles. “You live on Wayfinder _Way?_ What, seriously?”

She smacks his shoulder again. “So help me God, if you show up at my house…”

“Aqua, that is _exactly_ what I intend to do.” If Vanitas pulls this shit again, he’s going to take it outside the bar, so to speak. And then whatever happens, no one can blame Saïx.

“And then what?”

“Excuse me?”

She takes an angry bite off the pretzel and waves it in a circle. “You’re skulking around our place and then what are you going to do?”

Axel examines his knuckles. It’s been a long time since he’s seen them purple and blue, black and yellow. Even longer since he’s set anything interesting on fire. “I’ll use my imagination.” Rising from the desk, he tucks the slip of paper into a tight gold denim pocket, swapping it with the plugs that Roxas had handed him, and heads for the door.  

“Axel, wait,” Aqua catches his forearm, swallows. “What if there was another way? No firing Vanitas or Roxas.”

He taps his fingers against the door frame and turns back around, wondering if Aqua had somehow come up with a solution he hadn’t. “You have my attention.”

“Fire me again.”

You’re killing me, Smalls. “What?

“Do it,” she strides closer, taping the pretzel against his chest. “Fire me. Say it.”

“Aqua,” he hesitates, wondering if she’s screwing with him, “you’re fired.” He lets it sit in the air, too heavy, and then groans, “Ugh. Nope. Still can’t do it. You’re unfired. And I’m going to have to gargle some Listerine now. Which drawer do you think Saïx keeps it in?”

Axel strides back to Saïx’s desk and tugs the bottom drawer open with the toe of his boot.

“Okay, so not fired, then,” she allows, taking a bite and chewing as she ruminates, arms crossing, “suspended?”

“Here it is.” Axel produces a small bottle of pine green mouthwash, and uncaps it with the same flourish he’d uncork a fine wine.  

Aqua covers a laugh with her hand and manages levelly, “And you can unfire me when he gets his act together.”

“You think he’d do that for you?” Axel presses his lips to the bottle and tilts his head back.

The air smells like mint sprigs and Aqua grimaces. “You just straight up put your mouth on Saïx’s Listerine.”

Axel makes a show of gargling and spits the results into a spare coffee mug. Then he lifts an eyebrow, leering the tiniest bit. “Trust me, Saïx has no issues with my mouth germs _anywhere_.”

Aqua chokes, clears her throat. “Now I have a nasty taste in _my_ mouth.”

“You brought it up.” He raises the bottle as if in toast and then screws the cap back on. “Sai won’t like this, speaking of.”

Aqua shakes her head, eyes on the security feed, where Vanitas is checking out the woman with questionable taste in young reptilian vigilante themed backpacks. Axel would have gone with Michelangelo or Raphael, himself. “Vanitas will straighten out his act to help me. I know he will.”

“If he doesn’t, I’m going to look like the asshole who fired St. Aqua right before Christmas.” Axel scowls, he can already hear the flak from Xaldin, and god forbid anyone tell _Terra_. “I’ll probably be haunted by sinister but well-intentioned ghosts.”

“Axel, honey,” she frowns, tone all sympathetic. “Everyone already thinks you’re an asshole.”

 _Ouch. Someone’s had one too many shifts with Larxene._ She’s the queen of harsh but true.

“Yeah, well.” He slides the mouthwash back into the drawer and picks up the plugs he’s set on the desktop, watching them catch the harsh, backroom light. “Roxas doesn’t.”

Her expression hardens, a judgment he doesn’t quite understand written in her creasing forehead. “Then don’t prove him wrong. Axel…please.”

“Fine. You win. Congratulations, Aqua. You’re fired. Please return your lanyard and snarky attitude to the desk drawer.” He gestures toward the empty space beside Saïx’s Listerine.

Aqua takes off her lanyard and drops it in. Turning on her heel, she pushes her way out and onto the sales floor. He follows suit, hanging in the door frame as Aqua chucks the last nugget of her pretzel at his cheek. “Fuck you, Axel.” And if the whole store didn’t hear that, it wasn’t her fault. The words echo in his ears as she storms out, grabbing Vanitas’ by the wrist and taking him along for the ride.

“Nice talking to you too, Aqua.”


	26. Two Truths and a Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Axel

Aqua breathes new life into the phrase ‘stormed out’, as she tears through the black archway, out of Hot Topic, dragging Vanitas with her like an empty black trash bag caught in a windstorm.

It takes Roxas a long moment to process this sudden departure and another to think to turn back to Axel, still leaning in the back door frame and looking vaguely whiplashed, like he ought to be picking stray leaves out of his hair.

Roxas finds himself moving toward him, dodging Clearance fixtures like a skier dodges flags. “Are you okay?” Concern wears down his voice, but he doesn’t think Axel will mind. His feet halt a few feet apart from the man, still staring out the entryway and frowning hard. “What was that about?”

Axel glances down at Roxas, silver pierced, red brows arching like it hadn’t occurred to him he might actually have to explain what’s just transpired. “I think I mighta broke Aqua.”

Axel tries to smile, but it’s a weak little twitch, and it makes Roxas a little sad that Axel feels like he needs to smile for him when he’s clearly no longer in the jovial mood he had been not fifteen minutes ago. (Even _after_ Roxas had made the stupid mistake of telling him about pushing Sora off a pier and into the ocean. Which, okay. Sounded much worse than it was. Sora has a waterproof phone case. So, no harm done, really.)

Axel’s arms cross and he looks up, toward the top of the door frame where the paint’s started to scrape off. 

“Had to...uh, send someone home early,” he rubs at his arm, “low numbers and all that.”

Another person angry with Axel for just doing his job? _It doesn’t seem fair..._

“Aqua drew the short straw,” Axel continues with a shrug. “I’m sure she’s just pretending to be angry with me.”

“Sure, Axel.”

It feels too simple, like a lie. It certainly hadn’t looked that way to Roxas. Although, he supposes he hasn’t known them all long enough to really judge. Still something in his stomach tightens. He realizes Aqua getting upset could have been easily prevented. Still could be, but…

“I really, really need the hours,” Roxas argues with his conscience aloud, Seifer’s quick sneer and upturned nose back on his mind. (It should be impossible for anyone to look as stuck up as Seifer always did while also wearing a super dumb beanie, but he’d always managed it.)

Roxas backsteps, the echoes of Aqua’s ‘Fuck you, Axel,’ ringing in his ears, as he watches regret play across Axel’s face.  

“But I guess, if she’s that upset, I’ll go after her...”

“ _You’ll…?_ ” Axel shakes his head swiftly, pacing forward to set hands on Roxas’ shoulders. “It’s like day two for you, right? Stay.” Axel’s voice smooths out to a gentle salve. Between that and his hands—warmer than human hands are supposed to be, Roxas is pretty sure—Axel effectively stills Roxas’ entire being. “She’s fine. _Really_. She didn’t want me to tell you guys this, but she _asked_ me if she could go.”

Roxas takes a slower breath. “Oh.”

So, her anger had been an act to cover up her calling first dibs to leave after Roxas and Vanitas duked it out earlier. Smart.

Also, kind of… offensive, right? Roxas hadn’t hurt Vanitas _that_ bad. He’d just been milking it.

 _Chicken wuss,_ dismisses the Seifer in Roxas’ brain. Seifer, who Roxas had once seen bounce back to his feet, swaying, with his pretty nose broken, a couple displaced teeth in one fist and his Struggle bat poised to strike in the other. Always ready to go another round. _The idiot._

Axel reads Roxas’ mind, or the frown lines etching into his face at least.

“As for Vanitas, he’ll be back after Aqua tells him to behave himself.” Axel leans his elbow into Roxas’ shoulder to get closer to eye level. Amused overbright green halts his thoughts and Axel’s elbow digs a bit near his neck. Roxas can’t bring himself to mind. “You know. Probably.”

Roxas tilts his head in turn, eyes narrowing, tracing the silver constellation of piercings highlighting Axel’s sharp features. Lip ring, nose ring, brow studs, earrings, plugs… “ _Probably._ So, you’re saying it’s just you and me?”

“Actually.” Axel takes two fingers and presses Roxas’ cheek, turning his face to face the register. “It’s just you. Time to show me your stuff, checkout boy.” He taps Roxas’ cheek in emphasis, and starts to strut toward the counter, the stained-glass window designed plugs Roxas gave him earlier waving in the air at him behind Axel’s back.

Roxas mouth opens a bit at this light-hearted shift, but he trails after, taking up his post behind the register and arming himself with a hand-held price scanner. He nods solemnly and reaches out a palm. “Right.”

Axel returns the soldierly nod and drops the plugs into Roxas’ hand, along with a packet of Pop Rocks—the green ones. “Did I find everything alright?” Axel prompts sportingly.

“Yeah, yeah, you did, thank you,” Roxas mumbles back dryly, scanning the first tag. Axel scoffs, the hard edge starting to melt off his grin.

Axel starts to type away on his phone. Not leaving Roxas all alone after all then, the newbie realizes.

*    *

Even missing his winged eyeliner today, Axel’s jade gaze is striking. Roxas can feel it burning the back of his neck as he turns to tap at the computer screen. He’s trying to find the stupid employee discount option Demyx had shown him so he won’t seem completely incompetent when he screws up something else later on.

Axel starts clicking his tongue the second Roxas gets it right, and Roxas pauses, unable to withhold a flash of confusion. 

“Tsk, tsk, Roxas,” Axel drags out, amusement growing at Roxas’ immediate, doe-eyed look of disappointment, “week one and you’re already sharing your employee discount with tall, handsome strangers? I’m not sure if I’m scandalized or impressed.”

“Tall, handsome...?” Roxas’ mind immediately jumps to Axel. His better judgment rejects that idea and his tongue stills, eyes flicking between Axel and the nonexistent checkout line. “You mean you?”

Axel feigns indignance, sweeping a fatigued looking wallet toward his chest and offering a dry, “Thanks for noticing.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t saying you’re not—” Roxas fumbles too quickly, words tangling, “I mean, I didn’t mean to say—Wait.” Roxas blinks as Axel leans back to watch his meltdown with an unwavering smirk. “You. You’re saying you’re not an employee?”

Axel sighs, nods, tugging at his tight black tee. “Just dress like one.”

Roxas watches the cotton snap back against Axel’s lean chest, and then shakes his head, trying to understand. “But you’re always here.”

He’d helped with Roxas’ training, logged him into the register, known every single employee’s name and personality flaws and amusing anecdotes…

“Right next door, technically.” Axel flicks a thumb. “Like I said, I just swing by to help Saïx keep his life in order.”

Wait, Axel had already _told_ him this? Puzzle pieces begin to click. Why people get pissed at him for taking charge, for example. “And that’s why you never stay long.”

“Bingo. Gold star.”

Roxas sets the scanner down, arms crossing. Axel hadn’t needed to be so fucking cryptic about it. “So, what _do_ you do?”  
  
Axel pauses to consider, an arm stretching behind his neck. Roxas wishes the guy didn’t flex so much, as he gets distracted by a flash of the tattooed tongue of flame above Axel’s wrist and the edges of black etchings further up, wrapping lean muscle.

“Stab people with needles, mainly.”

Roxas’ tongue goes dry. What the fuck? “You’re… some kind of nurse?”

Axel laughs, short and bright, leaning his arms on the counter. “That’s flattering.” His head shakes like he’s trying to picture himself in jet black scrubs. “Jesus, no. Here.” He flips open the billfold in his hands. “Remember when I told you knowing about piercings was my only job?”

He slides a business card across the table, featuring a complex glossy black and white geometric design that reminds Roxas of a mansion gate. Apparently cryptic is Axel’s forte.

“I thought you meant knowing _everything_ was your only job.” Roxas’ teasing lacks gravity as he squints at the card, unsure what to make of it.

Axel smiles. “That’s more a hobby.” He glances down at the card and then, with a ‘Whoops’ flips it over. “Friend and I own a little tattoo and piercing place down on the boardwalk.”

“ _Never_ ,” Roxas reads from the simple, seriffed, gold font overtop the black and white design, feeling incredibly stupid. He imagines a neat little shop, all weathered boards and open glass, hung with elaborate posters, the smell of salt on the air, and punk rock thrumming through the speakers, gently vibrating the floorboards.

Roxas glances back up to the attractive man, reconsidering the inverted violet teardrop tattooed below each eye. “Kind of perfect for you.”

“Yup.” Axel taps the counter. “We’re not wildly popular yet, but we’ve made a name and we do better than alright.”

“I’d love to see your work sometime.”

“Oh?” Axel stills, lip quirking, and Roxas stomach chills at his latest misstep, though he honestly has no idea what it was.

“Well, if you show me yours…” Axel prompts, flicking up an eyebrow and pinching the collar of his tee, like he’s ten seconds from pulling it off.

“Ah…” Roxas raises both hands, blue eyes widening, words too fast again, as his heart reaches a rate more appropriate for a jack hammer. “I meant your _designs_ , that you _drew_ …”

Axel’s freckled nose crinkles, and he covers his mouth like he’s trying hard to fight another smirk. “I know what you meant, Roxas.” And Axel has apparently had second thoughts on the whole stripping in public concept, because he just nods, as if to say ‘Later, then’ and folds his wrists on the counter, head tilting in thought. “Y’know, I tell everyone they’d love the place, but I think maybe you actually would.”

“Yeah, I …” Roxas nods, voice quieting, sliding the business card over to his side of the counter, “I think so too.”

_Never, Tattoo and Piercing Parlor, Xigbar Thornton & Axel Flynn _

This all makes such an incredible amount of sense, Roxas isn’t sure how it didn’t occur to him before. Oh right.

“But you said earlier you work next door…”

“Uh-huh.” Axel shrugs a shoulder, sliding his credit card out of his wallet. “More of a side gig.”

Setting his card down, Axel dips a couple fingers into his shirt pocket and fishes out a small silver name plate. He clips the tag near his breast bone with a magnet, and then tugs it forward for Roxas’ viewing pleasure. “claire’s” is embossed across the top in crisp, bubbly, purple letters. Below this, printed in some cousin to Comic Sans, “AXEL” in vibrant magenta.   

Roxas’ brain back-fires again in a way better suited to an old pickup truck engine.

Roxas tries to super-impose the man in front of him over an image of Claire’s. _Claire’s_ , a cheap children’s fashion boutique with the overwhelming assortment of low-quality, cutesy micro-accessories: hair, jewelry, plushies, the whole nine yards. _Claire’s_ with the pink, purple, and glitter color scheme that looks like something a unicorn vomited up. _Claire’s_ which always smells vaguely of plastic and vanilla bean.

Roxas can’t help but imagine that upon walking in, Axel, in his punk-goth-hipster glory with his unquantifiable number of tattoos and piercings, would be immediately escorted out again.

“They let _you_ work at _Claire’s_.”

“Hey,” Axel argues, with a hurt pout about as real as a Claire’s cotton candy blue hair extension. “I’m good with kids.” His eyes narrow with amusement as Roxas’ brows rise. “It’s the parents you gotta watch out for. And okay so,” his hands lift in a gesture of admission, “maybe I mainly just sit around, piercing ears and looking pretty. And maybe Marluxia likes for me to stay out of the way. And technically,” his fingers steeple, “I got the job as a personal favor, and not through an interview, but that’s just because I violate most of the dress code standards any given day of the week.”

Roxas laughs outright. “God, sorry. I just feel like such a dumbass.” He shakes his head and at an angry beep from the register, returns his attention to his computer screen, responding to a prompt on the screen that asked if their transaction was still ongoing and another regarding Axel’s method of payment. “I thought you were, like, my manager,” he mumbles, thinking of the grief he’d given himself over his crush.

“’S alright,” Axel straightens up, pocketing one hand, “You wouldn’t be the first to give me a discount. Especially on account of me n’ Saïx.”

Axel plugs his card in the reader, keys in his code.

“Huh?” Roxas watches him out of the corner of his eye as he taps another button on screen. “What about you and Saïx?”

Axel smirks again, and this one he doesn’t bother to hide, his voice reaching a new level of patronizing, “Your parents’ll tell you when you’re older.”

The reader beeps, and Axel tugs out his card and taps it back in his wallet against the counter. Roxas is happy to turn his miffed expression away from the man’s striking eyes and mocking smile as he retrieves a bag for the earrings.

“What?” Roxas coughs. Axel had said he had a boyfriend, but… “You and _Saïx?_ ”

_No. Fucking. Way._

Then laughter comes, quick and easy, imagining the playful, flirtatious red-head wrapping his arms around the neck of Roxas’ sharp, stoic boss. “Right, okay, sure.”

“Well,” Axel’s smile drops off as he waves away the bag in Roxas’ hand, “they say opposites attract. And he is smart... successful... built like a fucking tank...”

Roxas laughs again, remembering Axel and Demyx’s serious discussion about checking out Saïx’s ass in sweatpants. Maybe this is a long running joke of theirs.

“Warm, charming, sympathetic,” Roxas mimics and rolls his eyes, tearing Axel’s receipt off the printer.

Axel looks mock affronted, fingers to his chest. “Don’t believe me, huh?”

“Yeah, no. Maybe when hell freezes over.”

“Is that right?” Axel chuckles softly at Roxas’ adamance, eyes terribly amused. “I’ll let him know you said so.”

Hm. Maybe they really are good friends. Roxas remembers Axel draping a scarf around Saïx’s neck in the training video. Saïx hadn’t seemed to enjoy it, but he also hadn’t stopped him.

“Yeah,” Roxas says with slightly less certainty, forking over the receipt. “You do that.”

“Thanks, Roxas.” Axel wraps the plugs in the receipt and tucks them back in his pocket. Roxas slides the Pop Rocks forward as well, but Axel covers Roxas’ hand with his own to stop its progress. “Those were for you.”

Axel slides their hands back toward the cashier side, letting go only when Roxas wraps his fingers around the packet of candy.

“Thanks,” Roxas mumbles, glancing down at the candy and wondering what to make of it.

When Axel captures Roxas’ eyes again, he winks. “Hey, come by sometime. I’ll give you a free piercing or something.”

“I’m pretty sure all piercings at Claire’s are free.” Roxas wishes he could rewind his mouth. He doesn’t know what it is about Axel that makes him blurt the first thing that comes to his mind.

Axel chuckles. “And the equipment is shit, too.” He turns lazily to go. “But that’s not really what I had in mind.”

“Oh. You meant...” Roxas slides the card on the counter closer still. “Pierce my… what, exactly?” That doesn’t sound the way he means it to either, but this time Axel doesn’t call him out on it.

“Whatever you want.” Axel nods over his shoulder, smirk both condescending and endearing. “My treat.”

“I’ve never really thought about…” He has, actually, but after his tattoo, it’s safe to say his parents would murder him in cold blood.

“So, think about it,” Axel replies, facing away from him again, walking off, “I’ve got a few suggestions.” He laughs lightly at some stray thought. “I’m sure Xigbar will too.”

Maybe Roxas will just die now on the spot and save his parents the trouble.

Sora would probably give the eulogy and get all blubbery and incoherent halfway through. Maybe he could tell the ‘my brother knocked me off a dock’ anecdote. Classic Roxas. So tragic.

Axel saunters toward the door, and how had Roxas not noticed Vanitas coming in and getting back to work? How much of this conversation had he heard?

Axel stops at the door and turns one more time, smile quick, “Never say never, Roxas.”

Roxas leans his arms into the counter so he will not melt into a puddle on the floor. “That’s cheesy as hell, Axel.”

“See you later, Roxas.”


	27. The Other Day at Claire's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel, Larxene, Marluxia

Axel steps out of Hot Topic with a guilty conscience and a pleased smile that he cannot quite contain. 

“Let It Snow” ironically graces the island mall’s speakers overhead, as he traces the familiar path over to Claire’s. He finds himself caught up in the surge of people mid-morning brings to their two story, air-conditioned corner of paradise. Locals and tourists alike beginning their holiday shopping clad in pompom hats and red and green Hawaiian shirts. Above their spirited chatter, Axel can already hear the staccato grumble of Vanitas giving Roxas shit back in Hot Topic. 

_Dude is going to have to cut that out quick if he wants to get Aqua her job back._

Axel hammers a few more exclamation points into the ‘hurry up’ message he’s composing before firing it off to Demyx. 

Axel would have liked to stay with Roxas and Vanitas himself, but his own shift has already begun, and the children of Claire’s can’t pierce their own ears. Or so Marluxia tells him. And he needs to play nice with Marly today, for Saïx’s sake.

Anyway, it’s Dem’s day off, and Xigbar can only take so many of his distractions at the tattoo parlor before he starts barking like his German Shepherd. So Dem’d jumped at the chance to come in and continue wooing another potential Organization member. Never mind that the band already _has_ a singer... 

And that would turn off Vanitas to the conversation, for sure. No way was he getting caught in Demyx’s web of rehearsals, demos, and shameless merch promotion. No way in hell. 

Roxas can probably hold his own until then. Vanitas might wind up in a neck brace, but it’s a sacrifice Axel is willing to make. 

And it’d be Aqua’s fault, really, for getting a little too into her part and storming out instead of babysitting Hot Topic’s newest rivals for him. 

_God. Saïx is going to throw a bitch fit if he finds out about any of this._

And Axel figures his introverted boyfriend is already going to be in a rare state from his long day of meetings, margs, and sucking up. 

Of course, Axel will have to tell him _something._

He just might have to temper it first. Nothing will be too over the top tonight. He’s thinking red wine, candles, massage oil, bubble bath…

_Then Saïx can just drown me._

Axel snickers to himself and then laughs outright, recalling Roxas’ flat out refusal to believe that Saïx would date him. A soccer mom trips over her Adidas slides at Axel’s sudden outburst, and, used to being stared at, Axel winks at her—which does not help her catch her footing—before ducking into Claire’s. 

Axel’s smirk finds its way back out as he surveys the moderately busy store. Everything smells like spilt sugar plum perfume. One cluster of small fries gathers around the metallic green and red tinsel hair accessories and another around the tourist faves—cowrie shell bracelets, puka shell necklaces, silver starfish shaped earrings—all strategically located near the entrance. Axel weaves easily between them, too absorbed to notice the lanky, red-headed freak in their midst, and sidles up to the side of the register, where an athletic blonde woman with a pixie cut is finishing up a sales transaction.  

“ _Larxene, you light up my world like nobody else,”_ Axel croons to his coworker, overtop the One Direction lyrics floating through the speakers. “ _The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed!”_

He leans fairly close to her ear, his arms crossing on the counter, but she ignores him in favor of straightening a stack of coupons, a scowl forming across glossy pink lips. “You’re late,” she says. 

A dry sound escapes his throat. “Missed you too.”

Larxene puts in beaucoup hours at both Claire’s and Hot Topic to pay for her apartment fees and architecture courses, and, therefore, Axel sees entirely too much of her, and vice versa.

She replaces the 15% off stack atop the cash drawer and checks for anyone else in line before turning around and leaning back to speak to him. “I was hoping you weren’t coming.” Her smile is not charming, but he returns it with vigor. 

“Sometimes life disappoints us.”

Her smirk twists, and an eyebrow rises. “That why you look like shit today?”

“Hm?” Axel glances toward one of the thousand mirrors atop their neat white accessory displays and sights his swept back, unstyled hair, the shock of golden freckles sprinkling his nose, the foreign, childlike quality of his eyes without their cat eye liner. 

He’d almost forgotten. Saïx, Xigbar, Roxas…Why hadn’t they said anything about it?

Xigbar’d told him once he prefers his men without makeup. But of course now he’s dating Demyx and his glitter bronzer loving ass, so what the fuck does he know. Saïx has seen him with and without and everything in between and would never have said anything. Vanitas and Aqua had been a smidge _distracted_ what with his threats to fire them and all. But Roxas…

_Huh. Curiouser and curiouser._

“Saïx monopolized the bathroom this morning,” Axel tells Larxene with a playful touch of bitterness.

“Taste of your own medicine, hm?” teases a voice, approaching from his other side. 

Axel doesn’t need to look up to recognize his manager—Saïx’s closest friend. 

An arm inked with a familiar black, brown, and forest green pattern of vines, leaves, and thorns wraps Axel’s shoulders and gives a brief squeeze. Axel raises a hand to press Marly’s wrist, turning and narrowing his eyes at him skeptically. 

“Hello, Marluxia.”

“You look good,” Marly insists in his easy, confident way, stepping back to observe him. “Natural beauty.”

They are all acutely aware he is only saying this because Axel is not breaking as much of the dress code as usual.

“Don’t listen to him,” Larxene cuts in, tapping Axel’s chin. “You look like shit.”

Axel raises his hands defensively to either side, eyelids shutting them out, “There’s this hoity-toity Hot Topic management conference today. I am a good boyfriend and let Sai primp for an extra hour.”

“And Axel spent the extra time squeezing into those pants,” Larxene quips to her boss, pinching the tight gold denim in question, opposite hand propped on her hip.

“Unquestionably.” Marluxia smirks, eyes flitting through the store to ensure he’s not neglecting his head managerly duties. 

Axel balks, shooing away Larxene’s loose grip on his thigh. “You don’t like the pants?”

“ _No_ ,” both say in unison, horrified, wide eyes back on Axel and the outfit in question. “We’re obsessed with the pants,” Larxene corrects quickly on both of their behalves. “It’s your face that’s the problem.”

Marluxia chuckles despite his earlier disagreement, as Axel’s arms cross, and he steps off in the direction of his piercing station. 

“Boss,” he growls, “I’d like to report one of my coworkers for unsportsmanlike conduct.”

Larxene pauses in rooting through a fringed black pleather handbag to stick her tongue out at him, flashing the lime green plastic of the tongue piercing he’d done for her. “Then maybe you should go work at _Dick’s_.”

“I hope you mean Dick’s _Sporting Goods_ ,” Axel raps his knuckles against the top of her head, grinning thinly.

“Either way,” she interrupts, smirking up from her handbag, from which she’s produced a tube of liquid eyeliner. 

Axel opens his palm for it with a sheepish smile. “You’re an absolute darling, you know.”

“Fuck yourself,” she snipes pleasantly, but releases the tube into his palm. He snatches and pockets it hastily, lest she change her mind. 

“Children. _Please_ ,” Marluxia’s hand raises to rub his forehead beneath his neat bubblegum pink bangs. “You primadonnas are making me miss my old job managing White Castle.” Marluxia’s elegant nose crinkles as if he can still smell the burger place’s unique onion stench. “If I’d had to manage both their incompetence and your drama, I think I would have taken an early grave.”

Axel rubs at the back of his neck and chuckles good-naturedly, and Larxene scowls and elbows him in the ribs.

Marly winces at this interaction and rolls his eyes. His throat clears with a neat little cough. “Regardless, there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you both while I have you here. First and foremost, we are running our flower crown promo through this weekend. You are encouraged to wear a crown to advertise the sale and may take one from the display or bring one from home if you like.” 

Marly straightens the ring of red roses crowning the shoulder length, sharply layered pink hair he’s undone from his usual ponytail.

Axel’s lips tip up just as Larxene’s tip down. 

“I’ll do it if she does.”

“Asshole.” 

For a moment, Larxene’s glare could set off a smoke alarm, but noting Marly’s noble attempt to cover a groan with his hand, her expression softens. Larxene sighs. “Fine. I’ll do it for you, Marly.”

“And the children,” Axel prompts with an alligator smile, eyes following a trio currently knocking over Naminé’s elaborate pyramid of bug-eyed Beanie Boos. “Do it for the sweet little children.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever,” she flicks her wrist toward another group of their miniature customers, pulling down a shelf of earrings whole, “and the bratty little children.”

Axel snorts, though he knows deep down she doesn’t mean it. Larxene enjoys seeing little kids smile over stupid little cute things and helping preteens accessorize for their first dates. She would just stab him with a stiletto heel for saying so. 

“And another thing,” Marly continues, loudly enough to pause their squabble, and ushers them toward the back of the store. They pause near the wall length, color-coded flower crown display, where conversations are less likely to be overheard and customer complaint surveys less likely to be filed. “We need to discuss your timeliness.”

Axel blanches and then wonders why Larxene does too. 

“Larxene, I know that you picked up Kairi’s shift at the last minute,” Marly begins, sweeping a few strands of hair behind his ear and pretending not to notice Axel’s shoulder jutting into hers. 

“And Axel, I’m aware that Saïx asked you to check up on Hot Topic in his absence.”

Axel nods and tries not to scowl at the reminder. 

“Ordinarily, as you know, I’m happy to let these things slide,” Marly continues, folding his hands in front of him above his short violet half-apron.

“And we appreciate it Marly—” Axel puts in, though it doesn’t stop the man’s expression from growing steelier, and there’s a reason he gets on so well with Saïx. 

“However,” Marly interrupts, “with the holiday season upon us and new recruits starting out, I’m going to need you, my more experienced warriors to lead the charge.” He gives each of them a measured look and nods with approval at their attentiveness. “I hope I can count on you.”

“Of course, boss,” Axel purrs easily, patting the man’s bicep.

Larxene crosses her arms and nods as well. “Anything you need.”

“Good,” Marly’s smile grows jagged fangs, “because in Kairi’s absence, I’ll need one of you to train our new employee later today.”

Larxene groans loud enough that a passing service dog yips back. “Anything but that,” she corrects. 

Marluxia laughs a villainous sort of laugh, before he walks off to take over ringing on the register, waving his fingers at them like a noble might a peasant. “Work it out, darlings.”

*           *

Axel and Larxene duck into the narrow lavender painted staff lounge, mid-argument. He heads for the time clock, while she props herself up on her knees on the sleek, black sofa that feels much like a slab of stone in an old timey prison, to try on flower crowns in the mirror above it. 

“I’m not training another Kairi clone,” she repeats.

“Naminé and Kairi have completely different personalities,” Axel interjects readily, having had this conversation, regarding Marluxia’s interest in hiring doppelgängers, more than once already. 

“Then you train Kairi 3.0.”

The first crown has golden leaves that stick up from Larxene’s head like horns, and she swaps it out for another with black and purple blossoms and silver stems. She seems to prefer that. He has to admit it’s striking with her skinny black jeggings and slinky white camisole. 

“I’m happy to train Kairi 3.0.” Axel shrugs turning around as he ties off his Claire’s apron. She beckons him forward and he bows his head so that she can crown him with a ring of ocean blue and seafoam white blooms. 

“What,” her hand near slips, setting the flower crown slightly askew, “seriously?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to subject anyone to _you_.” Axel joins her, kneeling on the couch to get at the mirror. Shifting her eyeliner from his pocket, he begins tracing a lid as she readjusts his crown. “But if she doesn’t want to pierce ears, sweetie, you don’t have much of a choice.”

She tugs the crown half off, down below his ear, and smacks him with it. The line above his eye smudges hopelessly.

Glancing back at the mirror, he frowns at the flowers tangled in his hair, scoffs at his single charcoal raccoon eye, and abruptly starts to laugh. Larxene joins in, clapping him on the shoulder. “You suck,” she says, “do you know that?”

“I know,” he says after a minute, tugging at the crown and further upsetting his hair, “just help me fix this.”

“Fine,” she pushes him by the shoulder down onto his ass, and loosens his ponytail, wrapping the band around her wrist, “but I want to hear the latest Hot Topic drama.”

“Drama?” His shoulders stiffen though he attempts to hide it as he combs fingers through his hair. “No drama. When has there ever been drama?”

“You were 15 minutes late, dumbass.” She lifts the flowers and tugs harshly at a snarl. “Tell me the drama.”

Axel hisses, hands raising in attempt to stop her. She removes the crown entirely and gently smooths back his auburn locks. He lowers his hands. “Alright, alright, gees.” He exhales and his hands fold neatly in his lap. “His name is Roxas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to write Larxene and Marly for a while now, so I was excited to finally fit them in! They're like Axel's siblings. Thanks to you amazing people still reading this and everyone who's commented <3 <3--I know I haven't had as much time to devote to writing this summer as I thought I would. Also, this is one of the first fanfics I've written and I've been trying to do a better job tagging my stories, so I updated the tags for this one. If you have any suggestions for tags you can let me know!


	28. Unwanted Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxas, Vanitas, Axel, Larxene, Marluxia

Roxas didn’t know how lucky he was that Vanitas initially intended to give him the silent treatment this morning.

Axel’s barely taken three steps out of Hot Topic before Vanitas starts in on Roxas again. Dude saunters up to him, swiping his tongue across the back of his hand and then cringing. Vanitas leans an arm against the checkout counter and tilts his head to squint up at the ceiling.

“I think there is actual vomit in my mouth right now.”

Talking with Axel’s left Roxas slightly fuzzy-headed, with a smile that’s starting to hurt his jaw. Roxas runs fingers through his hair and strains to mirror Vanitas’ scowl. “Shut up.”

Vanitas’ smooth, throaty voice lifts into a falsetto to mimic Roxas’ earlier words, “‘You want to pierce my _what?_ ’”

The falsetto drops off as Roxas grips the edge of the counter, tan knuckles whitening, and not just because he does _not_ sound like that. 

“ _Cringe._ ” Vanitas shifts to better visually appreciate Roxas’ growing discomfort. “I know grandmothers with better game than you.”

How had he and Axel not realized sooner Vanitas was listening in?

“Friends.” Roxas pushes back from the counter with both hands. “We’re _friends_.”

Vanitas’ smile stretches wider. “You were getting friendly alright.” 

He has unexpectedly perfect teeth and that’s somehow unnerving.

“Chin up, though, Fight Club.” Vanitas pats the counter in lieu of trying to touch Roxas again. “I think your crush found it all endearing and shit.”

 _Crush,_ Roxas considers. _Because when someone else finds out about it, that’s the feeling that you get in your chest._

Vanitas prattles on, unaware that Roxas’ lungs have collapsed and he ought to be calling a paramedic.

“He was laying it on pretty thick. I don’t think a piercing’s the only thing that slut wants to give you for free.” Vanitas winks, like Axel had when he’d extended the offer, and Roxas feels like he’s been snapped in the face with a rubber band. “Be careful though. You’re a tiny thing, wouldn’t want him to break you.”

And then Vanitas starts to fucking turn to walk away. And Roxas absolutely can’t have that. 

 "What's your problem with me?" Roxas blurts before his common sense can grab him by the shoulders and restrain. “Do you want me to deck you again or what?”

The words don’t feel natural. He isn’t one for threats or unprompted violence, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s the only dialect of ‘stop talking’ Vanitas understands.

The guy’s smile drops straight off and he lifts both hands. Unfortunately, his mouth is still running, “No, no, no, hey, I get it now, sensitive topic: you and your new—ahem—close personal friend.” Vanitas’ dark brows bounce, and Roxas dated Seifer long enough to know when he was intentionally being baited.  

Roxas places his hands back on the checkout counter and leans forward like he might vault himself over it. His next words edge through gritted teeth. “ _Drop it,_ man.”

“Hey,” Vanitas steps back, looking genuinely alarmed for half a second, apparently just now remembering that time when Roxas knocked him to the floor like a deflated punching bag. “I’m going to, because you didn’t rat me out earlier, and that was surprisingly not shitty of you.”

Vanitas nods like he’s about to go his own way.

“Not that it particularly helped,” he mumbles to himself, and then pauses, glances back over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Why _didn’t_ you rat me out, by the way? You had plenty of chances to tell you-know-who what I said about him.”

Roxas scoffs. It’s like this Vanitas kid physically can’t _not_ mock him. “Because _I_ hit _you?_ Because I can’t afford to lose this job?”

Vanitas’ pockets his hands and leans back, considering this new information with a wince. 

Roxas stares Vanitas down. “And because you told me we were good. Are we good?”

“Of course, Roxas.” Vanitas makes no attempt to sound convincing.

“You’re not going to say this shit to anyone who will listen?” Roxas prompts, and he’s starting to sound a touch pleading, “Because Axel has a boyfriend.”

Vanitas smirks. “No shit.”

“And if he thinks I’m into him he might decide he doesn’t want me around.” The admission hurts worse than Vanitas’ mocking, burning at the edges of his tongue like something hot. 

Vanitas rolls his eyes, voice smooth as ever, “You need to relax, Roxas. I’m not going to say anything to anyone, and I’ve got the bruised ribs to remind me.” 

Roxas stares at Vanitas, trying to make himself sound like some kind of victim, as if Roxas wasn’t _there._

“Actually,” Vanitas continues, drumming fingertips against the counter, his matte white polished nails not as chipped as his own.  “I meant to be nicer earlier, it’s just, never in a million years did I think Axel’d _actually_ be into a cute, insignificant, little nothing like you. But he must be, right? Because otherwise—and I’m still trying to process this part—he would have torn your throat out for talking shit about his boyfriend. Talk about ballsy, Roxie.” 

“What?” Each word out of Vanitas’ mouth sounds more and more absurd. “I didn’t…”

Vanitas’ hand goes flat against the counter and he leans in like a poker player upping the ante. “Didn’t you?”

“You’re trying to say that Axel and Saïx are… actually together.” Roxas’ brows furrow. “Axel and _Saïx_.”

“Our type A, emotionally void, drill sergeant boss? That’s his man.” Vanitas shakes his head wistfully. “No wonder his thoughts are straying…” 

As awful as this description sounds, it reminds Roxas of what he had said to Axel. _About his... boyfriend? But Axel is nothing like that. And Axel had been so nice afterwards. And Vanitas is such a dick there’s no telling…_

“Ah-ha.” Vanitas giggles and it’s terrifying. “You seriously didn’t know. Well, there goes half my respect for you. But hey, consider my honesty your payback for not ratting me out. Axel and Saïx? They’ve been together since the dawn of time, dumbass. It’s why Axel’s always here.”

Roxas shakes his head. _It doesn’t add up._

“Quit messing with me.”

“Wish I was,” Vanitas picks up a round, pokéball shaped chapstick from one of the counter display bins and rolls it between his fingers. “Most days I feel like a ping pong ball being smacked between the two of ‘em. They don’t want to let me get away with shit, but they don’t want to fire me, free me.”

Vanitas clenches the chapstick in his hand and seems to realize he’s gotten off topic.

“They live together,” he elaborates, gesturing with his open hand like a reluctant orchestra conductor. “They’ve got like a dog, a flower garden, throw cushions, plans to honeymoon in Italy.” He stops, nose wrinkling. “I could keep going, but I’d vomit, and you’d be cleaning it up for making me explain this.”

Roxas tries to picture it—it just seems so unlikely. _Axel’s so easygoing, Saïx, so uptight. They’re like hot and cold, an oven and a freezer._

“They’d strangle each other in five minutes,” Roxas objects.

“Had a lot of time to make it work. Grew up together. Childhood sweethearts,” Vanitas draws a mocking smile, shoulder bouncing again in a nonchalant challenge. “Ask anybody.”

Roxas’ arms cross, and it feels childish but necessary. “I will.”

“And when they confirm, you and I’ll be even.” Vanitas tosses the chapstick up, catches it. “How about that?”

“ _If_ they confirm.”

“ _When._ ” Vanitas gives Roxas another triumphant stare that makes his stomach feel like he’s chugged a large, freezing milkshake. “Now,” he jerks a thumb to the backroom where piles of boxes still await them, “let’s get back to work.” 

Roxas snorts, taken aback. “Did _you_ just say ‘work’?” 

Roxas hasn’t forgotten that Vanitas’ definition of ‘working’ earlier had been standing around while he and Aqua lugged boxes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Vanitas rolls his eyes, “gonna pull my weight and shit. Getting fired’s off the agenda for a while.” His annoyance darkens to a glare. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

“Fine.” Roxas shrugs and moves to head out from behind the register to join him. _Whatever Aqua’d said to the guy must have been pretty damn inspiring._ “But you need to start minding your own fucking business.”

“There, there, Fight Club.” Vanitas pats his shoulder and slides between Roxas and the rounder of hair dyes, toward the back, wearing a smile that makes Roxas twitch. “Your dirty little secret’s safe with me.”

 *         *

Axel’s always thought that if he and Larxene had friendship necklaces they would say something passive aggressive like “Best Bitches” or “You Suck Slightly Less Than Other People.” And the way Axel sees it, we all need that friend who tells it to us straight. It just so happens that, in Axel’s case, _all_ of his friends tell it to him straight: Saïx, Demyx, Xigbar... 

But Larxene is next level. 

There had been a break in the Claire’s crowds, and Axel and Larxene were back in the staff lounge again, him disinfecting his piercing equipment at the tiny sink by the mini fridge, her, a few steps away, clearing out a cubby for their new coworker. 

Axel had told Larxene everything. He usually does. And when he doesn’t, she gives him hell until he wises up and fesses up.

 _Which is fine._ He trusts her. She doesn’t spread his shit around like she might somebody else’s, and her unwanted advice is surprisingly solid, as far as unwanted advice goes. 

When Axel stops talking for a minute, she clings to the sides of the stacks of cubbies like she’s fighting to hold herself up. “You are such an idiot I physically cannot stand it.”

_Maybe not that straight._

“I’m sure Demyx will stop them from doing anything too crazy,” he insists.

Axel is not sure of this at all, but he’s not desperate enough to bug Luxord to come in when he no longer owes Axel a favor. That’s how you end up owing _Luxord_ a favor. And _that’s_ how you end up mostly naked flipping burgers on a yacht for some bachelorette, while your buddy hosts casino night below deck. 

Or so he’s heard. 

“I’m not talking about Demyx. Although,” Larxene chews on the thought, “you’re probably wrong about that too.”

“So, give me some advice then.” If she has any ideas on placating Saïx or getting Vanitas’ toes on the line, he’s all ears. 

“Hm,” she pretends to consider. “Um, fire Roxas and Vanitas like you should have done in the first place?”

“Useful advice.” 

“Alright. Stop tormenting the new kid, so you can get your skinny ass to work on time.”

Axel suspects she’s just upset that they got lectured by Marluxia. Axel usually doesn’t drag her down with him. Then again, she usually isn’t the one who broke the rules. 

“I was going to leave on time, Larx, but you didn’t see him.” Axel musses his hair. “I couldn’t just _go_.” 

He can still picture Roxas, slumped over a box of earrings, back in zombie mode. “He gets this sad, vacant expression like he’s been through some shit…” He shakes his head, feeling something tiny in his chest compress. “And between Vanitas, Lex, and Saïx, he kind of _has_. I had to try to cheer him up, y’know, make him feel welcome.” He stares at the ceiling for a second, voice quiet and wry, “Can’t count on anyone else to do it.”

“Right,” she sasses, pausing in her work to turn on him, hand on popped hip, “and how d’you think _that_ went?”

“Hm? Think I overdid it.” He grins—he can’t not grin. “He got a little…flustered.” His equipment jabs at his hand and he glances down to refocus, lip still quirked up. “Was fucking adorable, though.”

“You’re an asshole.” 

 _Well, it’s not Thursday if she doesn’t tell me that at least three times._  

She slaps her hand against the white wood of the cubbies. “New advice: Stop talking to the new kid altogether.” 

“It’s called being friendly,” Axel counters, slowly. “You could try it some time.”

She jeers, her green eyes fixing on him as he rubs his equipment down with a soft rag soaked in an alcohol solution. “Your definition of cheering someone up is flirting with them.”

He wants to deny it completely, but she’s not exactly the first to tell him so. 

Liquid trickles down his arm, and he uses the rag to clear it up, slow circles, considering the words he traded with Roxas. “Maybe, a little,” Axel concedes with a small smile. “He didn’t seem to mind.”

Larxene dumps an armful of somebody’s shit in the pink-pearl-hued trash bin Xigbar donated to them on Demyx’s behalf. Papers, deodorant, candy wrappers, and a handful of the origami stars Naminé made fall in. Axel hopes they’re not his.

“Did you touch him?”

He doesn’t glance up. “Probably.”

“Axel.”

Their eyes meet. “Only a couple times.”

“So, _yes._ Did you tell him he was pretty?”

He returns his attention to the sink. “I—not exactly.” 

“So, _yes_.”

“No. _Larxene…_ ” Cleaning fluid splashes the wall as Axel jerks the bottle too hard. “It’s _fine_.” 

“You don’t know what it was like for Roxas,” she accuses, sneering, brushing off her hands above the bin and stepping closer. “What if he didn’t like it?”

“He liked it.” Axel rolls his eyes. “Trust me.”

“Then what if you gave him the wrong idea?”

Axel shakes his head, vaguely miffed, one palm bouncing up, “That I want to spend time with him?”

“You know I’m all for playing the field, but _you’re_ _dating Saïx_ ,” she annunciates in that shrill way she has.

“Which means I can’t just ‘spend time with’ somebody? You’re starting to sound like fucking Xigbar,” he teases, not as gently as he means to, but still, with a smile.

Larxene winces at this particularly low blow. She and Xigbar are too alike to get along at all—unapologetically stubborn, willful, profane. 

“It’s not like that.” His towel is dripping cleaner and he twists it. “Roxas knows I’m seeing somebody.”

“Saïx is not just _somebody,_ Axel. He’s Roxas’ boss. And boy doesn’t like to share his toys.” 

He rings his towel harder, Saïx’s bracelet sliding down his wrist. “I _know._ ” 

He thinks of Marluxia. Just because Saïx _hadn’t_ fired Vexen for hitting on a tipsy, flirty Axel like everyone seems to think he did, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have gladly done so.  

She glares at Axel haughtily as she pitches a final paper star into the trash, like she’s not yet convinced.

Axel sighs in concession. “Okay, okay, okay, like I said, I overdid it,” his head tilts, smile tight, “but it worked, alright? Roxas was happy. I made him happy.” He stops smiling. His green eyes can pierce souls too. “I’m not gonna apologize for that.”

“You wanted my advice.” She grabs a Sharpie from the cup on the desk beside the cubbies and points it toward Axel, capped marker jabbing the air emphatically, like a throwing knife. “When this blows up in your face, I’m going to be the one with the margarita and the big fucking sign saying ‘I told you so.’”

He wonders if she might be right. Again, he thinks about the weeks of silence that greeted him when he got Vexen sacked. He doesn’t want that, not from Roxas. Or worse, he doesn’t want Saïx turning on Roxas if he thinks they’re spending too much time together. 

He’s got to get in front of all this. Spin the narrative in his favor. Get Saïx on board with his new buddy. Get Roxas out of his slump. “It might help if Roxas _believed_ me when I told him the truth.”

“Well, you and Saïx ain’t exactly a matching set.” 

“How long did it take you to figure out?” Axel asks without looking at her, although his equipment hasn’t needed its past three rub downs. She doesn’t answer and he glances up. “That Saïx and I are together, I mean.”

The Sharpie she’s taken to the new employee label halts mid letter. It takes her a long moment to answer. 

“I’d been at Hot Topic for maybe a day or two. Saïx was in the middle of teaching me some register bullshit and you walked in. He froze up for a second. That was strange by itself, he’s usually so put together and customer friendly. He barely looked up, said, ‘Be with you in a minute.’ 

“But you completely ignored that, walked right up behind the counter and put these nice aviators with the tags still on ‘em on his forehead while he was talking. He shut up again and you said, ‘Beach later?’ And I just stood there waiting for him to chew you out, like, who the fuck did you think you were to talk to _Saïx_ like that? But he cracked and gave you this gag-worthy, million-dollar smile. Thumbed the sunglasses and said, ‘Yes, alright.’ And you said ‘Alright’ and smiled like you got away with something, and then you left. He was in a fucking sunshiny mood for the rest of the day.”

It all sounds vaguely familiar. They were Saïx’s favorite sunglasses for months until Xigbar took them surfing and a wave swallowed them away. _Still_.

“Not exactly the height of romance,” Axel mumbles, a brow rising, but he’s smiling again, something softer.

“It didn’t have to be. I could just tell, the way you two, I don’t know, respond to each other. So, if you insist on babysitting the new brat instead of canning him, might wanna come clean before he figures it out himself. I don’t need anyone else fawning all over you, and it sounds like his week’s been shitty enough as it is.”

 _Roxas._ Fawning _. Christ. If anyone’s fawning, it’s me._

_She doesn’t get it._

_I just want to pick up the melancholy little thing and put him on a tall shelf. Maybe a tower._

_Someplace high up where nothing bad can touch him. Someplace that’ll make him smile._

_Someplace close to the clouds with a salt breeze and a sunset, ocean view._

“Alright,” Axel hears himself say, “I’ll set him straight later.”

Finished clearing out the cubby and penning the label, Larxene turns to him, pale, thin, blonde brows arching. “Later?”

“I’m supposed to meet up with the cuddly-looking little badass after my shift.”

Her brows furrow. “ _Axel_.”

This conversation is starting to exhaust him. Axel wraps up his tools in a dry cloth and glowers. “I’m allowed to have attractive friends, you know. Saïx’s therapist said it was okay.” 

Words catch in her throat. Overhead the speakers go silent between songs. He feels like he’s swallowed something with sharp edges. 

A new song starts, something upbeat, more One Direction, and the moment passes. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Her eyes roll and her elbow jabs his bicep. “Just keep your hands to yourself.”

He manages a smirk. “No promises.”

Larxene smacks his arm, and he raises both hands in self-defense, toning down his grin. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll try.”

He holds the door for her and they file out of the staff lounge. 

“But he’s just so fucking cute.”

“There you two are.” Marly is already approaching with light, quick steps, arms raised as if he intends to drag them out forcibly if necessary. “Come on to the front for a minute, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @rewind_and_replay for helping me beta this chapter!


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